


Tumblr Prompts and Other Short Fics

by ozhawk



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), X-Men (Movies)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Plug, Anal Sex, Cunnilingus, Double Penetration, F/M, Kidnapping, Loss of Virginity, Multi, One Night Stands, Rape/Non-con Elements, Reader-Insert, Seduction, Sex Toys, Tumblr Ask Box Fic, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-12
Updated: 2016-08-01
Packaged: 2018-04-08 21:55:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 31,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4322178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ozhawk/pseuds/ozhawk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stuff that doesn't fit anywhere else ;)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Gambit In Da Club

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I tried my hand at reader-insert once before, and it was a hot mess. Still, I got the prompt, and I think the unwritten rule is that you have to have a go…
> 
> [ **enigmatical-imaginteer**](http://enigmatical-imaginteer.tumblr.com/) asked:
> 
> I wish you would write a fic where Gambit sees you on the dance floor in a club in New Orleans and comes up and charms the hell out of you? Thanks!

 [](http://s1383.photobucket.com/user/Catherine_Bilson/media/Remy/card3_zps479aadf1.jpg.html)

Mardi Gras in New Orleans. It was like a fairy tale, a dream come true, scenes more fantastic than anything you could have imagined unfolding all around you. All day you’d been out in the streets, gaping like the overwhelmed tourist you were. And now, you found yourself in a club, dark, a little seedy, but the kind of music you liked was playing and the drinks were cheap. It took a while to get to the bar, so you held up three fingers to the barman when you got there and he grinned and poured three shots for you. Knocking two back quickly, you swayed a little when you turned back to the dance floor, the last shot in your hand.

Your hair was probably a mess, your makeup long since sweated off, but you'd never had so much fun in your life. Brightly coloured plastic beads around your neck swayed against your tight black dress, glittered as the disco lights flashed. The music was a pulsing beat, a low throb that passed through the soles of your shoes and infused your whole body.

 _More dancing_. Grinning, you tossed back the last shot and headed back for the dance floor. Your friends had long since disappeared, but you didn’t care, throwing yourself into the dance with abandon.

 _Sing as though no one can hear you, dance like there’s no one watching_. It was a saying you’d always liked. Your friends wouldn’t care if you made a fool of yourself anyway, and everyone else in here were strangers you’d never see again. What if someone did laugh at your dancing? Why should you care?

Somehow, you could feel eyes on you, though. Glancing around, you didn’t see anyone looking at you, but the feeling persisted. Eventually, you spotted the culprit. A tall man, long brown hair past his jawline, propping up the wall in a dark corner of the club, his arms folded. He was looking in your general direction, could have been looking at anyone, but somehow you knew his eyes were on you, and _only_ you. Stilling for a moment, you stared, and as though that was the signal he’d been waiting for, he straightened up, unfolded his arms and came sauntering across the club, his stride casual but graceful, _predatory_ almost.

You couldn’t look away. Dressed in black dress pants, a dark violet silk shirt and a black waistcoat closely fitted over it, he was broad-shouldered and snake-hipped, a man confident in his own skin. As he got closer you saw his face clearly and gasped; men weren’t _meant_ to be that good-looking in real life! He was all sharp cheekbones and pure lines, almost _pretty_ except for the square, strong jawline.

“ _Bonsoir, cher_ ,” he said as he arrived before you, “a beautiful lady like you should not be dancing alone.” One strong arm slid around your waist, his other hand clasped yours, and suddenly you were being swept into the dance, held against him; which was probably a good thing since his sexy Cajun accent had turned your knees to absolute jelly.

You looked up into his eyes, glinting almost red in the strangely flashing lights.

“You were staring at me,” you accused, but your voice came out feeble. He heard, though, and smiled.

“You are too beautiful not to. Too free; the way you danced, such abandon. Such passion. I could not look away.”

Oh-kay, well that was even more knee-melting.

“You have not been here before.” It wasn’t a question. You shook your head.

“Have you?”

He smiled, amused. “I own this club.”

“Oh! It’s – great.” And it really was, you’d never had so much fun. “What does the name mean?”

“ _Le Diable Blanc_? The White Devil.” He smiled again, as though amused at a private joke. But throughout, his eyes had never left yours, his feet never slowed, his body sinuously graceful as he danced with you. The song ended and still he held you close, eyes locked with yours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **And NO, there will not be any more of this. That's your lot.**   
>  **Unless, of course, you'd like to come visit me on[Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/ozhawkauthor) and send me an ask saying "I wish you'd write a fic where..."**   
>  **(MCU and X-Men characters only, please, and I reserve the right to not write it if it's a NOTP or something I just can't visualise!)**


	2. Rumlow/Bucky/Reader

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From a prompt: Reader is kidnapped by Rumlow as a reward for the Asset. He enjoys watching so much he decides to join in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **WARNING: The rating, tags and category for this fic have changed. It is now EXPLICIT, and there is non-consensual, though not violent, sex in this chapter.**
> 
>  
> 
> **Please note that the Author does NOT condone rape or sexual assault in any form. This is a fantasy about fictional characters set in a fictional world. And this is your formal trigger warning. If you choose to read on past this point, any flame-type comments WILL be deleted. You have been warned.**

 

Minding your own business, that's all you'd been doing.  Walking your friend's dog while they were away for the weekend.

With hindsight, walking in the gathering dark on a completely deserted road might not have been your wisest decision. But you'd thought it preferable to dodging traffic.

At least until the unmarked van pulled up alongside you, the side door slid open and a gruff voice said;

"She'll do."

There was a bag over your head and you were being dragged into the van before you could even draw breath to scream. The van door slammed and the vehicle drove off.

The entire abduction had taken less than ten seconds. The dog was left standing at the side of the road, staring in bemusement after the rapidly departing van. After a moment the animal heaved a sigh and turned around. He knew the way home.

 

You might have been taken by surprise, but you certainly weren’t going to make it easy. You started fighting at once, kicking and yelling, trying to strike out at the men who'd grabbed you. There were at least two of them, plus a driver.

"Shut her up," the gruff voice you'd heard before said, and a third pair of rough hands grabbed your wrist, holding your hand still.

A needle pricked your skin and the world faded away to nothing.

 

Whatever you'd expected on waking, it wasn't to find yourself in what looked like a rather nice hotel room. Handcuffed to the bed, however, wasn't really a surprise. You gave a quick wrench to the cuffs, but it was quite apparent that you weren't going to get loose that way.

"You won't get loose that way," a low voice said, and you lifted your head to peer across the room.

There was a man sitting at his ease on a small couch, a tablet computer held in his hands. He was probably in his forties, you guessed, darkly handsome, with styled black hair and thick stubble.

"Don't bother screaming, either," the man added. "There’s no one to hear you."

For some reason, you believed him. "Why," you tried to say, but your throat was dry and you started coughing.

The man got up and picked something up from the table. A moment later a straw was thrust between your lips; you sucked gratefully, tasting fresh water, still looking up at the man. His eyes darkened, but he didn't say anything.

"Why am I here?" you asked when he took the straw away.

He nodded, as though he'd been expecting the question. "We needed to reward the Asset. He prefers a particular type. You fit the description."

Scared, you swallowed nervously. "I don't understand."

The man hesitated, and then sat down on the edge of the bed. "There’s two ways this can go. You can struggle and fight and scream, and the Asset will fuck you anyway, and you’ll probably end up badly hurt. Or you can be quiet and compliant. He likes that and he'll probably be gentle."

It was all so matter-of-fact, the way he said it. You fought back tears. "And afterwards?"

“You’re a smart girl, aren’t you?” he looked at you pensively. “Depends on you, again. Behave yourself, and once the Asset’s done with you, I’ll give you another shot of the tranquiliser and leave you in a quiet spot somewhere near where we picked you up. There’s no point in you going to the police or anyone else.” He smiled in amusement at the thought.

It could be a lie. It could be complete and utter bullshit. But somehow, you thought he was telling the truth. “What would happen if I did go to the police?” You were curious about the answer.

He shrugged. “They’ll do a DNA test. They’ll send the results off and it will come back to guys who look absolutely nothing like us, who are already in prison. The system’s been hacked.”

He had a quiet competence about him that screamed _military_ or maybe _government agent_. This close, you could see faint lines on his face, what looked like fading scars.

“SHIELD,” you guessed. “Or you used to be.” You didn’t dare say the word _HYDRA_ , but it hung silently in the air between you.

“Very good.” The corners of his eyes crinkled when he smiled. “So. Are you going to behave yourself? I’ll take those handcuffs off if you’re going to be a good girl.”

Something deep inside you responded to his words, the way his voice softened. The way his arms bulged thickly from the sleeves of his tight black T-shirt. Mutely, you nodded.

“That’s a good little girl.” He was looking down at your face, reached out across your body, up the length of your arms. Still watching your face, from closer range now, as he released the cuffs. His light amber-brown eyes dropped to your lips briefly, and for a moment you thought he might kiss you, but then he straightened up.

“Go to the bathroom, if you like.” He stood up, moved casually away, pocketing the cuffs. “Get yourself comfortable. The Asset will be here shortly.”

Bringing your hands down and massaging your wrists, you eyed him as you cautiously sat up. He sat back down on the couch, picking up the tablet again.

Getting up, you looked around, moved slowly across the room to the open bathroom door. The other door, the door that had to lead out of the room, was quite close, and while it was locked with a chain on, you were much closer to it than _him_. Glancing across, you found him watching you.

“Don’t try it,” was all he said, his voice quite soft, but there was definitely a warning in it. Looking away, you hurried into the bathroom and closed the door.

There was no lock, no window, and the fan vent wasn’t big enough to get your head through, never mind your whole body. Nor was there anything you could use as a weapon, just soap and towels. With a resigned sigh you used the toilet, washed your hands and glanced in the mirror. Your hair was a mess, there was a smear of dust on your cheek. Making a face at your reflection you washed your face and did your best to smooth your hair with your fingers, and then wondered why the hell you were tidying up. There was a man – at least, you presumed the Asset was a man, from the way _he_ had spoken – coming to _rape_ you.

At last, you couldn’t see any point in delaying any longer. The longer you stalled, the more the butterflies in your stomach increased. Taking a deep breath, you opened the door and stepped back into the bedroom.

There was another man there, talking with _him_. Whirling as the door opened, the newcomer stared at you from electric blue eyes.

“This is your reward, Asset. Do you like her?”

“Yes, Commander. Thank you,” the Asset said quietly, his eyes scanning you up and down.

The Asset was younger than the Commander, perhaps in his early thirties, you guessed. And extremely handsome, longish black hair falling around a chiselled, stubbled jawline, those blue eyes arrestingly beautiful. He paced towards you slowly, a predator on the prowl, stalking you, and you froze like a rabbit in the headlights.

The Asset wore all black, cargo pants tucked into army boots, a leather jacket with a lot of straps across his chest. He had an odd sort of silvery sleeve on over his left arm, and then the arm _moved_ , plates clicking and shifting, gears whirring, and you had to suppress a scream as you realised it was some sort of _insanely_ advanced prosthesis.

Cold metal fingers brushed your cheek. Touched under your chin, making you look up into the Asset’s eyes.

“She’s lovely, Commander,” the Asset said quietly. “The best you’ve ever given me.”

From the corner of your eye you saw the Commander smile. “I’m glad you like her.” And then he settled back on the couch, putting his feet up on the coffee table, and looked at his tablet.

 _Was he going to stay in the room the whole time?_ But you had no time to think about it as the Asset’s metal fingers suddenly tightened a little painfully on your chin.

“What’s your name?”

“(Y/N),” you whispered shyly.

“That’s pretty. _You’re_ pretty.” He stared at you from those mesmerising blue eyes for a long moment. “Will you take your clothes off for me?”

 _“He’ll probably be gentle.”_ The Commander’s words rang in your mind. Slowly, you reached up, caught the zip of your hoodie and drew it down.

The Asset’s lips parted as he watched you remove the hoodie, full, soft pink lips that just begged to be kissed. You found yourself hoping that he would kiss you, that he’d touch you gently.

Dropping the hoodie on a chair, you crossed your arms at your waist, grabbing the hem of your T-shirt and tugging it up and over your head. You had plain underwear on - you’d been out walking a dog, for God’s sake! - but the Asset didn’t seem to care, licking his lips and staring at your breasts.

“Let me,” he said suddenly as you reached behind you for the clasp of your bra, and all of a sudden he spun you around. You let out a slight gasp as you felt his metal fingers cold against your back - and you looked straight into the Commander’s eyes. He’d lowered the tablet, given up any pretence that he wasn’t watching you.

Hands closed over your breasts, one cool metal, one warm flesh. Pinched lightly at your nipples, and you felt your traitorous body begin to react, to betray you. Biting your lip, you fought not to let out a whine, and then a soft mouth brushed your neck, a hot tongue flicked your earlobe, and you couldn’t suppress a shudder.

The Commander leaned back on the couch. Put the tablet down on the table and put his hands behind his head, a small smile touching his firm lips as he stared at you. At the Asset, standing behind you, his hands on your breasts.

“Take your pants off,” the Asset whispered in your ear, and when you didn’t move quickly enough to suit him, teeth sank in suddenly at the curve where your neck met your shoulder, making you squeal,  reminding you of what the Commander had warned; the Asset would be rough if you didn’t do what he wanted.

“I’m taking them off!” you gasped, grabbing at your waist, unfastening your pants. The Asset released you, soothing the bite with his tongue as you pushed them down. Your shoes and socks had been missing when you woke - probably to hinder your escape if you managed it - and you were able to push the pants right down and step out of them.

The Asset growled, a hungry, terrifying sound, and suddenly your panties were ripped away, leaving you completely bare.

“Please,” you couldn’t help but beg, “please don’t hurt me.”

“Gentle,” the Commander said, a single quiet word, but the result was instantaneous.

The Asset stilled behind you. And then a hand pressed in the small of your back, making you step forward.

“Go to the Commander,” he said quietly. “On your knees,” as you took another step.

“Asset?” the Commander said, his tone questioning as you knelt and began to crawl across the floor.

“You did well on the mission too, sir. It was as much your success as mine. Don’t you deserve a reward too?”

You could hear the Asset removing his clothes behind you as you crawled to the Commander’s feet and looked up at him nervously.

“Sir?” you said nervously. “What would you like me to do?”

He was looking up at the Asset still. “You don’t have to share your reward.”

“I want to,” was the reply, and you sensed the Asset moving up behind you again. He knelt behind you, and his flesh hand came round, tilted your face upwards, one finger tracing your lips lightly. “She has a pretty mouth, doesn’t she, Commander? Wouldn’t you like to see those sweet lips stretched around your cock?”

The Commander’s dark eyes dropped to your lips, and he licked his own. “You’re a cheeky little shit,” he said almost fondly, and the Asset laughed quietly. There was an odd sort of friendship between the two men, you thought, and then the Asset’s hand closed in your hair.

“You’re going to suck his cock,” the Asset said quietly. “Do a good job.”

“Yes, sir,” you said.

“You can call him Master,” the Asset told you.

The Commander hadn’t moved. He was just sitting there, hands still behind his head, looking down at you. Slowly, you reached to his waist, unfastened his belt. He shifted his hips to help you as you opened his pants and pulled them down and off. He wore nothing beneath, and he was half-hard already, his cock generously sized, long and thickening as you looked at it.

“May I, Master?” you asked, and the Asset let go of your hair, stroked your neck in an approving gesture.

“You _are_ a good little girl,” the Commander said quietly, and nodded. “Yes, you may, (Y/N).” He moved his feet further apart, and you shuffled forward, put your hands on his muscled thighs and leaned down.

Leaning in, you stroked your tongue slowly up from the root of his cock right up to the tip, swirling your tongue lightly around the slit before closing your lips carefully over your teeth and sliding down over the head. He let out a pleased little hum and suddenly there were big hands on your breasts, one warm, one cold, caressing your nipples gently. Closing your eyes, you focussed on the feel of the Commander’s cock in your mouth, bobbing your head slowly, taking him a little deeper on each pass. The Asset was toying with your nipples more firmly, squeezing them in his fingers, and to your shock you felt yourself starting to get wet between your legs.

The Asset seemed to sense it - perhaps even _scent_ it - and suddenly his flesh hand slid down, across your stomach, down between your legs, long fingers probing. He made a satisfied huffing sound in your ear before his hand moved away and you heard a sound you couldn't quite identify. Opening your eyes, you looked up to see the Commander _licking the Asset's fingers_.

 _Oh God, he was licking your slick._ And watching you as he did it, his dark eyes gleaming with triumph. Reaching down, he put his hand on your cheek, calloused thumb caressing the corner of your jaw for a moment before he put two fingers under your chin and lifted your mouth off him.

"Didn't she please you?" the Asset said, and his metal fingers tightened painfully on your breast.

"She did, very much," the Commander said at once, "but you know what I'd really like? I'd like to watch you fuck her."

The Asset said nothing, but all of a sudden you were being scooped off your feet and tossed onto the bed. You bounced slightly with the impact, letting out a startled squeak, and then the Asset was on top of you, pushing your legs apart, looking down at your pussy. He smiled.

"So pretty." His fingers dipped again, two working inside you. "Tight."

"Gentle," the Commander's voice warned softly, and you looked up to see him standing beside the bed. He'd peeled off his shirt and stood nude and magnificently muscular, smiling slightly. "She's being ever such a good girl."

"Such a good girl," the Asset parroted, and then frowned. "I've never had a good girl before, have I, Commander?"

"Never."

"What should I do?"

"She tasted good." The Commander's eyes were locked with yours. "Taste her. Lick, don't bite. I think she'll like that."

You bit your lip, trying to suppress whimpers of pleasure, as the Asset obeyed, absolutely going to town on your clit. The Commander smirked at the look on your face before kneeling on the bed beside you and leaning in to kiss you, flicking your lips apart with his tongue.

The moan bubbled up deep in your chest, and he laughed against your lips before pulling back. "It's all right to enjoy it, you know. Look at him, he's gorgeous. You'd absolutely want to hit on that in a bar, hmm?"

It was true. You'd have hit on either of them in a bar in a hot minute; the fact that the Commander was encouraging the Asset to pleasure you, to participate himself - well, certainly you'd never really expected that not one but _two_ men this attractive would ever be focussed on you this way, seemingly as interested in your pleasure as their own despite the fact that you’d been brought here against your will, supposedly as a _reward_ for the Asset..

The thought was hazy, though, because the Commander was kissing you again, his hands moving to play with your breasts, teasing and tweaking your nipples, and the Asset's hot tongue was still working your clit.

Your orgasm was building. You fought against it, because it seemed so _wrong_ to be enjoying this, to be taking pleasure from the touch of these two men. _This is rape,_ you told yourself firmly. _I do not consent to this. I'm complying because I don't want to get hurt oh God oh God..._

Your body arched, fireworks exploding behind your closed eyelids, and the Commander lifted his mouth from yours to let your cries of pleasure echo in the quiet room.

The Asset didn't let up on your clit and you quickly became too sensitive. Reaching up, you grabbed at the Commander's broad shoulders. "Too much," you begged frantically, "please..."

"Enough, for now," he ordered, and the Asset stopped at once.

"Was that good?" He sounded like a child, eager for approval.

"Very good," the Commander praised. "You made her come. But she's sensitive now. Give her a moment, you'll be able to fuck her and she’ll enjoy that too."

The Asset smiled, and began to kiss slowly up across your stomach to your breasts, pressing a gentle kiss to each nipple before getting off the bed and stripping quickly. A little loopy from the orgasm, you just lay there and watched as he revealed a body just as muscular as the Commander’s. Your eyes, though, were drawn to the thick white scarring on his chest and shoulder where the cyborg arm met his body. It looked painful.

"Does it hurt?" you asked softly as he knelt between your legs, reaching your hand up to touch the thick scarring.

The Asset looked surprised by the question, but then he said quietly "Sometimes." His blue eyes locked with yours as he leaned forward, and then he was kissing you, surprisingly gently, licking into your mouth, sucking on your lower lip, his tongue playing lightly with yours. He kissed so well you forgot you weren't supposed to be enjoying it and kissed him back, losing yourself in the kiss, so that it came as a surprise when he shifted his hips and his cock slid slowly inside you.

It felt so good you couldn't help but moan into his hot mouth, your hands coming up instinctively to clutch at him, to pull him closer, wrapping your legs around his waist and lifting your hips to take him deeper.

There was a low laugh off to one side that could only be the Commander, and as the Asset pulled his head back, you turned yours to see the other man watching you both, sitting back on the couch relaxed, stroking his cock in long, slow strokes. "I think she likes that," he said with a smirk as your eyes met his.

"I like it too," the Asset's voice was a low growl as he sat back on his haunches, hooking his arms under your legs and lifting your ass off the bed and into his lap. "Feels good. I like good girls."

"Oh, I think she's only good sometimes. I think she likes to be bad in bed." The Commander grinned knowingly.

You wanted to deny it, to shout that you were hating every moment of this, but the lie stuck in your throat as the Asset began to pump his hips. He could only make shallow thrusts at this angle, but the head of his cock rubbed _right over_ your G-spot with every one of them, and the only sounds that came out of your mouth were desperate moans and pleas for more.

The Asset smiled down at you. "Pretty noises, (Y/N)," he said softly. "So beautiful..." and suddenly he pulled out, leaving you crying out with loss.

"I want her ass," the Asset said, setting you back down on the bed, "while you fuck her pussy. I want to share her with you, Commander."

"Such a good Asset," the Commander said fondly, "and you have some very good ideas. In my bag, over there, you'll find a bottle of lube - bring it to me, please."

"I've never - with two," you whispered as the Asset moved away and the Commander came to sit on the bed beside you again, "please..."

"It's going to happen, (Y/N)," the Commander smiled down at you, his strong hands reaching to play with your aching nipples. "Just relax. I think you’ll enjoy it, if you let yourself."

The Asset came back to the bed then, holding out a tube, and the Commander took it with a nod. "Good. Come here, let me show you what to do, so that we don’t hurt her. You hold this leg up in the air..." and they both moved to sit on the end of the bed, each grabbing an ankle and lifting your legs high.

"Please don't," you couldn't stop the sob.

"Sshh," came the quiet response, and then there was a wet sound. "Okay, put your fingers on her clit now. That's it."

It was the Asset's flesh hand, lube coating his fingers, warm at first, but then came a cooling, tingling sensation that made you shudder.

"Now I'm going to slide a finger in, just slowly."

The finger intruding into your ass was slow, and so slick that it was soon gliding back and forth easily. There was a little sting at first, but the muscle soon relaxed, the tingling of the lube soon making small ripples of pleasure travel through your nerves, the Asset's fingers on your clit driving you quickly mad with need again.

"Please," you sobbed, but you weren't even sure quite what you were begging for.

"Now a second finger."

You wailed as the second finger breached you, the burn in your ass increasing slightly for a moment but then easing off.

"And scissor them a little, open the muscle up."

"Oh God, please - please, I want more." You were incoherent. Not thinking straight, surely, that couldn't possibly be your voice hoarsely begging. Low masculine laughter answered your pleas, and then your legs were being lowered to the bed, the Commander slipping his fingers out and wiping them on the sheet before moving to the head of the bed, sitting up against the headboard, gesturing to the Asset.

Powerful hands lifted you as though you weighed nothing, turned you over and laid you against the Commander's broad chest, your legs spread wide over his, his hands gripping your hips as he lowered you down onto his huge erection.

"Oh yes, _unnhh_ ," you clutched at powerful shoulders, fighting once again against impending orgasm. "No. Please. Oh _yesss_..."

A low, dark laugh was your only answer, and then the Asset was pressing up against your back, the tip of his cock easing into your rear passage.

So tight; so full; a little burn of pain but there were strong fingers on your breasts, tweaking your nipples with _just_ the right amount of pressure, another hand slipping down in front of you to tap a fingertip against your clit, and you didn't _care_ about the pain.

"Please," you sobbed against the Commander's shoulder, "oh please..."

"You beg so prettily," a raspy voice murmured in your ear, and then they started to move, handling you like a rag doll, building a rhythm between them that tipped you over into screaming orgasm in _seconds_ , and then they began _again,_ pushing you on until you were a wreck, your throat hoarse from ecstatic screams, your hair a tangled mess, sweat-slicked bodies driving against you ever harder and faster until at last the Asset stiffened and groaned in your ear, the Commander letting out a low growl just a second or two later, heat gushing inside you as finally they held you still. Closing your eyes, you let yourself go limp, and the world swam away in hazy, pleasure-filled darkness.

They woke you an hour later and began again. And again, until you lost track of the number of times they fucked you, until you could take no more and your cries of pleasure turned to pain.

"Stop," the Commander ordered, and it all stopped. A calloused hand smoothed your matted hair back from your brow, and the Commander's voice said quietly "Sleep, (Y/N)."

 

You came awake with a start, blinking at the ceiling. _Your_ ceiling, your own bedroom.

 _What the... was it all a dream?_ But then you moved slightly, and every muscle in your body screamed in protest, including a fair few you never even knew you had. Pushing back the sheet covering you, looking down at your (quite naked) body, you groaned miserably at the sight of the numerous small bruises and love bites marring your skin.

 _Not a dream, then._ How had you got home? Looking around, you saw the clothes you'd been wearing - minus the ripped panties - folded with military precision on your dresser. A neon-coloured bottle of sports drink and a trail mix bar on the nightstand beside your wallet.

Of course, your wallet had been in your pants pocket. With your ID and address. The Commander must have ordered you returned to your home. With a pained groan, you dragged yourself out of bed and headed for the bathroom. You needed a hot bath, and desperately. At least you were on birth control, so you couldn't possibly be pregnant.

 

Six weeks later you stared at the double blue line on the white stick and sank, weak-kneed, to sit down on the toilet.

"Oh, _shit."_

Four months after that, you were sleeping soundly when a dark figure picked the lock on the front door and made their way into your bedroom on silent cat feet. The needle-prick on the back of your hand was so gentle you never even felt it.

When you woke up, you screamed to see two faces looking down at you. The two men you'd seen in your dreams ever since that fateful night stood, one on either side of the bed, arms folded, staring at you, one pair of brown eyes, one blue.

"Hello, (Y/N)," the Asset said.

"He asked to see you again, since we were passing through the area. I was quite pleased with the idea," the Commander said dryly. "Imagine my surprise." He gestured at your swollen stomach.

Panicking, you told the only lie you could. "It's not yours! Can't be! I was already a few weeks along, I'm nearly seven months now, see how big I am..."

The Commander leaned down, putting one big hand on either side of your head, and said softly "Don't you dare lie to me. You're carrying twins, that's why you're so big. _Fraternal_ twins. We already had the blood tests done. One of mine and one of his."

Your mouth dropped open with shock. The Asset was smiling delightedly.

"We're going to be daddies!"

"And such a beautiful girl we've got for our baby mama," the Commander said, straightening up, smiling down at you. "You're _ours_ now, (Y/N). And this time, we're keeping you."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Comments are always welcome, would love to hear if you enjoyed!**
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>  
> 
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	3. The Wolf And The Doe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Soooo…. I’ve never been any good at the AU thing. My fics are almost always written in-canon. I can’t imagine the Avengers as a group of high school students. My brain doesn’t stretch that far.**
> 
> **I can, however, imagine a very young, wide-eyed Jemma Simmons at SHIELD SciTech Academy. Let’s say she’s… eighteen. Working on her third PhD. Bright-eyed, innocent – and oh so tempting to passing wolves. _This is NOT nice!Rumlow, although he's not being actively Eevil here either. Be warned._**
> 
> **Also featuring some of the STRIKE team members I created as background in STRIKE Team Uncles!**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **I’d been working on this one for a while. Then I did the Tumblr giveaway for getting 500 followers, and trooperschaf, who won first prize, requested something that I realised would fit PERFECTLY in this timeline – this actually creates a really excellent opportunity to set it up. So the next chapter will be a following ‘sequel’ to this one ;)**
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 [](http://s1383.photobucket.com/user/Catherine_Bilson/media/Rumlow/licking%20lip_zpsljcdnv1r.jpg.html)

_Here’s the scenario. Nick Fury, SHIELD Director, pays a visit to SciTech Academy one day. He’s walking around with Agent Weaver, nodding approvingly over all their young genius minds doing clever things, when suddenly he asks out of the blue;_

“And what about their physical training regimen?”

“Physical… training?” Anne Weaver gave him a puzzled look.

“Yes. Physical training.” Fury stared at her for a moment. “You do have self-defence classes here, do you not, Agent Weaver?”

“Oh! Oh, yes, of course. They’re optional, naturally…”

“What do you mean, _optional_?” He only didn’t roar because there were some very young-looking students already staring at him in wide-eyed terror. Fury still had to consciously lower his voice. “These are SHIELD agents, Agent Weaver. Being able to defend themselves is not _optional_. Nor is firearms training.”

Anne Weaver swallowed convulsively. “I… see. Well, we do, of course, have an excellent PT facility, but… there is no budget for instructors…”

“I will send you some instructors. You,” he pointed at her, “arrange the students’ schedules. Six hours per week PT training, three hours per week firearms training. That’s a _minimum_ for _every_ student, _no_ exceptions.” His Cyclopean stare was hard. “ _And_ every teacher.”

“Yes, sir,” Anne Weaver said to his back as he turned and walked away, leather coat flapping, pulling out a phone and lifting it to his ear.

“Coulson?” he barked. “Got a problem at SciTech Academy…”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Nine hours per _week_?” Jemma stared at Fitz, who’d delivered the bad news. The Academy had, within a day, suddenly become home to a large group of black-clad STRIKE agents, who wandered round and stared menacingly at everyone. Fitz had hurried up beside Jemma as she selected her lunch in the cafeteria and told her the news which had just gone up on the main notice board.

“But we can’t possibly!” she said, horrified. “We have important research to do! Things that can’t be neglected!”

“What can’t be neglected, Miss,” a deep voice said behind her, “is your physical safety.”

She spun around, about to ask indignantly if the speaker always eavesdropped on other people’s private conversations, when the question dried in her throat.

Because the man speaking was one of the aforementioned STRIKE agents.

And he was quite possibly the most gorgeous man Jemma had ever seen.

Dark-haired, dark-eyed, stubbled and rakishly good looking, he was around six foot with broad shoulders set off to perfection by his close-fitting black T-shirt. His biceps swelled thickly from the sleeves.

“I can take care of myself,” she said pertly, mentally kicking herself a moment later. Because not only was this man _not_ the kind who you should answer back to, his sardonic grin told her that she’d pay for that remark.

“I look forward to your demonstrating that to me in the gym this afternoon, miss,” he said, the hint of a laugh in his voice. He tipped his head to her in a gesture which was somehow not in the least respectful before picking up his tray and walking away.

“Oh God,” Jemma said dismally.

“You’re going to _die_ ,” Fitz predicted with ghoulish glee.

She turned to give him a dirty look. “It’s times like these when I realise our rivalry isn’t _quite_ dead.”

He snickered and added an energy drink to her tray. “You’re gonna need that.”

“And _you_ need to stop eating junk,” she eyed his energy drink and fries with disfavour. “Do you even _own_ workout clothes?”

“I do now,” he responded cheerfully. “Went out and bought some this morning.”

“Ugh,” Jemma muttered disgustedly. But somehow she couldn’t stop looking at the STRIKE agent, who was sitting at a nearby table with some of his colleagues. He caught her looking and gave her a wink. She hastily snatched her eyes away, cheeks flushing.

“You _fancy_ him,” Fitz discovered with glee. “Oh man, I am looking forward to this.”

“Shut up and stop acting like a five-year-old,” Jemma hissed, leading him away to the far side of the canteen, and quite deliberately sitting down with her back to the room. If she had to look at that stupidly handsome smug face she doubted she’d be able to choke down a bite.

She could _feel_ him watching her. Feel his eyes on her back as she hunched her shoulders over her tray. The food tasted like ashes in her mouth and she couldn’t concentrate on anything Fitz was saying. She was glad when Fitz finished his meal.

“Aren’t you hungry?”

“I’ll probably puke it all over him if I put too much in my stomach,” Jemma managed to get out dryly, which made Fitz snort with laughter. They handed their trays in and left the cafeteria.

_Don’t look, don’t look, don’t look_ , Jemma chanted silently to herself. And she didn’t turn her head. She was very proud over herself for resisting the almost overwhelming impulse.

It didn’t stop her from spotting his reflection in the highly polished glass door, though. Still watching her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

By the time she got to the gym, Jemma had convinced herself she’d been imagining things. Why on earth would a senior STRIKE agent care two straws about making some silly young girl at SciTech Academy look a fool? There were literally hundreds of geeks around the place who did no exercise at all – look at Fitz! At least Jemma kept fit, running on a treadmill every morning. The fact that the running allowed her brain time to process and organise while not needing to focus on other things was merely a by-product.

It was one time when being small was an advantage, Jemma mused, as she slipped quietly between her fellow students, Fitz trailing at her heels. At five foot four, she was small even for a female and many of the men towered over her. She concealed herself behind a tallish group.

“I can’t see,” Fitz complained.

“Good! If you can’t see them, they can’t see _you_!” Jemma hissed at him.

“Good point,” Fitz conceded.

At that moment, the jabbering students quieted, and Jemma glimpsed between the crowd eight black-clad STRIKE agents walking into the gym.

There were two women among the men, but Jemma didn’t make the mistake of thinking they were any less lethal. Their walk was just as confident, just as swaggering, as their male counterparts.

The agents spaced themselves out in the centre of the gym, standing in a loose circle on the gym mats, facing outwards. Jemma couldn’t see the one who spoke, but she certainly recognised the gravelly voice.

“I am Agent Brock Rumlow.”

The words fell like a stone into a pond, ripples spreading outwards as whispers started up.

_STRIKE Alpha Commander! Legend within SHIELD… level 8… used to be a Specialist… promoted to lead STRIKE…_ Jemma had to wonder how her fellow students knew all this information. Although even she had heard of Commander Rumlow.

“You do pick ‘em, Jems,” Fitz whispered, and she had to restrain the urge to kick him. Rumlow was speaking again, introducing his team by their names, explaining what they’d be teaching.

“And do we have a volunteer for our first demonstration?” he asked.

A few morons put their hands up. Rumlow paused. “Miss Simmons.”

_Oh, shit._

“Goodbye,” Fitz whispered as the crowd parted before her like the Red Sea, “it was nice knowing you.”

Rumlow was standing, arms folded, that damnable smirk on his stubbled face. Jemma had to make herself put one foot in front of the other, walk to him.

“Agent Rumlow,” she said as she stopped, proud of the fact that she managed to keep her voice steady.

“Now,” Rumlow didn’t speak directly to her, but looked around at the other students, “Miss Simmons here is quite small and light. As is Agent Wallace.” He gestured at the smaller of the two female STRIKE agents, a dainty blonde no taller than Jemma. “Now, putting Agent Wallace up against Agents Rollins,” he waved forward a huge man, scarred and brutal-looking, “one would assume there could be only one outcome. We’re here to show you that’s very much incorrect. For the purpose of this demonstration, though, Agent Rollins will be playing an untrained attacker. Jack, Sandy? Begin.”

Rollins stepped up behind Wallace and reached to grab her arm. Quicker than a striking snake, Wallace had his thumb bent backwards and the bigger man on his knees on the floor.

“Break,” Rumlow said quietly, and they began again, this time Rollins grabbing Wallace around the waist. Five different ways Rollins grabbed the blonde, and five times she had him down and tapping out within five seconds.

“Now, Miss Simmons, you’re going to assist me in demonstrating to your peers,” Rumlow said, stepping up behind her. “Nice and slow.” He put his hand on her shoulder, hot and strong. “Lift your hand up. No, the other hand.” He walked her through the moves, and though she had the feeling that he was humouring her, that he could have escaped any time he wanted, he let her push him to the floor and tapped out.

“Pair off,” Rumlow ordered finally, “and practice the moves. Respect the tap out. But remember, in a real life situation, your attacker would not tap out. You carry through and break his arm. And then you run.” He turned back to Jemma and smiled. “Thank you, Miss Simmons.”

She fled back to Fitz’s side with an astonished feeling of reprieve.

“I thought he’d be much tougher on you,” Fitz hissed as they paired off.

The STRIKE agents patrolled the gym, checking on the students and correcting their movements. The hulking Agent Rollins stopped by Jemma and Fitz, shaking his head at Fitz’s pathetic attempt to escape her hold.

“Not like that, son.” He adjusted Fitz’s grip, showed him the correct pressure to exert. Cool green eyes raked over Jemma before he smirked slightly and nodded.

The feeling of doom returned for Jemma. There was something going on, some plan of Agent Rumlow’s… he spoke her name again.

“Miss Simmons. If you would be so kind?”

She had to make the awful walk back to the centre of the gym again, every eye on her, only this time she was a bit more flushed, her hair escaping from its ponytail. Rumlow eyed her appraisingly.

“Now, those of you with long hair, male and female,” he said, “it makes a nice convenient handhold. Painful, too.” His hand wrapped suddenly, tightly, around the base of Jemma’s ponytail and he tugged. Jemma’s head rolled back and she instinctively put her hands up to try and grab his wrist, push him off. “Any ideas how you could get out of this situation, Miss Simmons?” Rumlow said, and there was a soft taunting note in his voice.

She’d had her hair pulled before, of course, by her brothers, but never this remorseless, steady pressure that was sending her slowly to her knees. She ended up on the floor, her back arched, Rumlow kneeling astride her, looking down into her tear-filled eyes.

“Agent Wallace,” abruptly he let go, stood up and beckoned to the tiny blonde agent. “Show Miss Simmons how it’s done, please.”

Rumlow didn’t let her go back to Fitz afterwards. He made her use the defensive move on him, repeatedly until she got it right, and then pushed her through another half-dozen equally painful manoeuvres until she was convinced she’d be covered in bruises tomorrow.

Finally, blissfully, they were dismissed, and Jemma fled on shaking legs, shrugging off Fitz’s concern and saying she was going to have a hot bath. Exhausted and sore, she decided to skip dinner and stay in her room.

It was about eight o’clock when there was a knock on her door. Guessing it was probably Fitz, Jemma scrambled stiffly off her bed and went to open it.

“I’m really not going to be good company…” she began, and trailed off, her mouth hanging comically open as she looked up at Agent Rumlow.

“I daresay,” he drawled, moving forward smoothly. Jemma stepped back instinctively and only when he was closing the door behind him did she realise that she was now quite alone with him.

In her room.

Her bedroom.

With her bed _right there_.

And she was in her pyjamas, a thin tank-top and shorts because the room was warm…

Scarlet-cheeked, she was too shocked at the lewd thoughts that immediately started running through her head to speak at first.

“You skipped dinner.”

“I wasn’t hungry.”

“You need to eat.” He lifted his hands, and to her complete amazement Jemma saw that he was carrying an insulated soup cup and a wrapped sandwich. “This afternoon took a lot out of you.”

Stunned, she watched as he crossed to her desk and set the cup and sandwich down on it. “Well?” he turned to her and folded his arms. Jemma couldn’t drag her eyes off his biceps.

“Er… thank you?” she mumbled.

“Sit your pretty ass down in this chair and eat.”

She bridled, her chin lifting defiantly.

“Or I’ll make you.”

There was no threat in his tone. No emotion, even. It was just a calm statement of fact. Swallowing, Jemma found herself walking to the chair and sitting down, reaching to unwrap the sandwich.

He just stood there and watched every bite of sandwich, every sip of soup, pass her lips until finally she was done.

“Good girl,” Rumlow said softly, and she turned her head to look at him.

“Why did you bring me dinner?”

His smile was slow and dark; he took a couple of steps closer until he could lean his hips back against her desk and look down at her. “I was pretty hard on you this afternoon… Jemma.”

She blinked in surprise as he used her first name, froze with shock as he leaned forward and suddenly strong fingers were curving around the back of her neck, running up into her hair – and massaging gently at her scalp.

“Are you sore?” his golden-brown eyes were locked on hers, his voice low and soft.

“N-no,” she managed to get out. “Not – not much.” Not now she’d taken some fairly strong painkillers and relaxed her aching muscles in a hot bath, anyway.

“Good,” he nodded, his eyes dropped to her mouth for a moment as she licked nervously at her lips, before returning to meet hers again. “I’m not going to talk in circles,” he said suddenly. “You intrigue me. I’ve been telling myself what an asshole I’m being since earlier today when I found out you were only eighteen, but… I want you. If you ain’t interested, say so now.”

Jemma’s mouth dropped open. She stared up at Rumlow agape, her eyes huge with shock. He smiled slowly. “Didn’t have any idea, did you?”

“N-no, I thought you were just going to humiliate me…” her eyes stung with tears as she remembered.

“That was the plan when I heard what you were sayin’, but the second you looked up at me with those big eyes I had a whole new plan in mind.” His mouth twisted ruefully. “And then I found out you’re barely half my age and… yeah. Can’t say I make a habit out of seducing teenagers. I’ve been tryin’ to talk myself out of this all day.”

“I’m over the age of consent,” Jemma said a little indignantly.

“Which is why I’m here askin’. Old enough to consent, young enough maybe to not recognise a seduction when a man’s tryin’ it on.” His hand was still in her hair, massaging slowly, his fingertips rubbing her scalp a dizzyingly pleasurable sensation. “So what d’you say, Jemma?”

She licked her lips. “Just sex?”

“Can’t offer you flowers and roses and happily ever after,” he shrugged. “I’m only here for a week and then we’ll be off again, once your permanent instructors are appointed. Off to get my ass shot at who knows where. Wouldn’t be fair to ask you to wait, and frankly monogamy’s never been my style anyway. Don’t start romanticising me, now. I ain’t a picket fences kinda guy.”

“I see.” Jemma had never had a one-night stand. She’d never had an _anything_. Most boys she knew were such utter _idiots_ , or nerds like Fitz, who was just not the physical type she found attractive. Frankly, _no-one_ at SciTech matched the type she found attractive.

Until the man with his hand in her hair arrived.

“I promise you this, though,” Rumlow said softly, “I’ll give you the best fucking night of your life.”

_No strings_ , Jemma thought. _No awkwardness after, or only for a few days at most_. “Just one night?” she asked.

“Oh,” he grinned, a sharp, wicked expression, “I could manage the rest of the week, if you like. But we’ll start with just the one night.”

She realised, as he leaned down towards her, that she’d given away her desire to agree with her last couple of questions. He’d already known, she suspected, that she was attracted to him. Aware of her body’s signals and biochemistry as she was, still Jemma hadn’t been able to suppress the frantic hammering of her pulse, the hardening of her nipples at his closeness surely visible through her tank top, especially visible to trained eyes like his.

Jemma stopped thinking as Rumlow’s mouth found hers, hot and seeking, his tongue flicking her lips apart expertly as his strong hand cradled her head, holding her still for him.

She’d been kissed before. A couple of times, anyway. But those inexperienced, fumbling kisses paled into insignificance beside the scorchingly erotic assault on her mouth that Rumlow delivered.

It took a couple of minutes for Jemma to realise that the strange sound in her ears was her, moaning in her throat as Rumlow plundered her mouth. Her hands fluttered up shyly, landed on his broad shoulders, and he made a hungry, triumphant sound before lifting his head.

“Is that a yes, Jemma?” his voice was low and harsh.

Barely able to open her eyes, her lips swollen, cheeks flushed, she had no idea how tempting she looked. “Yes,” she whispered, and gasped as he suddenly straightened up and scooped her up out of the chair into his arms, carrying her over to the bed.

“Such a pretty little thing,” Rumlow murmured, deft hands expertly stripping away her thin tank top as he laid her down. “Fuckin’ lovely.” His eyes were fixed on her breasts, youthful and pert, nipples already ripe and hard.

“B-before you start,” Jemma shyly folded an arm across her breasts, “do you have protection?”

For answer, he unzipped a pocket on his cargo pants, pulled out a few foil packets and scattered them on the bed. “Don’t ya worry. I got you covered, little girl.”

“It’s you that needs to be covered,” she quipped, saw him truly smile for the first time and almost fainted, because he was _devastating_ when he smiled, white teeth gleaming in his handsome face.

“I’ll take care of it,” he promised quietly, and then his hand curled around her wrist and lifted, drawing her arm away from her breasts. “Don’t hide from me. You’re fuckin’ stunning, don’t you know that?”

She blushed rosily, and he laughed quietly before kneeling down astride her legs and reaching out, cupping her breasts firmly in his hands, big strong hands with rough calluses from endless hours of handling weapons, darkly tanned, a stark contrast against her milky-white skin. Her nipples were raspberry-pink, swollen between his fingertips as he squeezed, testing their hardness lightly before pinching a little harder.

“Really fuckin’ gorgeous,” Rumlow rasped, watching as Jemma arched up under him, her soft pink lips opening on a little moan. She seemed almost surprised by her own reactions to his touch, and he wondered suddenly if she was a virgin. Or maybe it was just inexperience; she definitely didn’t have much. Either way he was going to give her the time of her fucking life tonight. He was hard as hell, just thinking about plunging into her; he bet she was tiny and tight, very different to the slutty girls who tended to hit on him in bars and he usually fucked because they were no effort.

Smiling as he thought of it, he leaned down to taste her nipple. She tasted nice, clean and fresh, a vanilla bodywash he thought, or possibly coconut. She didn’t need expensive perfume and heavy makeup to appeal to a man. She’d appealed to _him_ with nothing more than a sassy remark and a flash of those doelike hazel eyes.

Jemma moaned, her delicate little hands fluttering up to land on his shoulders as he suckled her, drawing her nipple right into his mouth and tonguing it with little flickering movements. She tugged at his shirt then, panting “Off. Please!”

Grinning, he reared back off her and peeled off the skintight T-shirt, his grin turning a little smug as she gaped up at him, reached to trace her fingertips wonderingly over his pectoral muscles.

“Wow,” Jemma whispered in amazement. He was so _strong_ , so perfectly made; like the kind of man she’d seen on charity firefighter calendars. Her fingers trailed down his six-pack, following the fine happy trail of black hair down to his belt. She hesitated a moment before determinedly tackling the buckle.

Rumlow thrust his hips forward a little as the buckle came unfastened, so that Jemma’s hands brushed over the thick bulge inside his pants. The blush on her cheeks heightened, and she firmly kept her eyes away from his, looking at the button she was now trying to open.

“Have you done this before?” the question was quietly voiced.

“Of course!” Jemma lied. Well, it wasn’t quite a lie. She’d removed trousers from a male before. That it was a corpse she was assisting to autopsy wasn’t something she intended to admit to, though. Though the corpse hadn’t been aroused, thick cock pushing out into the open air as she eased the zipper down. She held in a shocked little gasp. Of course she knew what a penis looked like, had handled models and even body parts, but… it seemed more… _sentient_ than she’d expected? Twitching towards her hand. Gingerly she wrapped her fingers around it.

“Mmm,” Rumlow murmured. “Tighter.” His big hand came down on hers, showed her how to hold him, how to jack him lightly. He was uncut and the foreskin slid smoothly in her fingers, playing peek-a-boo with the pink, flushed head of his cock.

Fascinated, Jemma watched as he swelled even thicker in her hand.

“You gonna suck it for me, baby?” Rumlow asked softly, and when she glanced up at him wide-eyed, he shuffled up the bed until he was kneeling over her chest, leaning down to reach for the pillows and tucking one behind her head to support her neck. “Wanna see those pretty pink lips of yours stretched tight around me.”

_Well, whatever she’d done before_ , he mused, _she’d never sucked cock_. She was a sweet little thing, though, shy and nervous but doing her best to hide it, pressing light kisses to his tip before tentatively licking.

“That’s it,” he encouraged softly. “Feels good, little girl. Keep going.” His fingers stroked lightly under her jaw, relaxing the tight muscles as she cautiously slid her mouth down on him. “It’s all right, you don’t have to take me deeper than that.” Wrapping his hand around his cock so his fingers just touched her lips, he ordered quietly “Bob your head.”

He’d never taught anyone to give head before. It was a curiously empowering experience, training Jemma to do what he liked, increasing his lust for her further. This was definitely not going to be just the one night, Rumlow realised; he was going to make damn sure that he got to have her every night this week. _Break her in just right_. He groaned at the thought and felt Jemma smile around him, obviously pleased with herself.

“Good girl,” he pulled back, drawing his cock out of her mouth, grinning at her little moue of disappointment. “See how hard I am? You did that, little girl; I’m so fuckin’ hot for you.”

Jemma let out a little gasp, her cheeks flushing again, and he pulled back, leaning down to kiss her before whispering “I’m gonna return the favour now. Only I’m not gonna stop until you come all over my face.”

“Oh, my goodness,” Jemma had to throw her forearm over her eyes as he kissed slowly down her throat, across her breasts, stopping to swirl his tongue around each pouting nipple and give it a thorough suckle before travelling on downwards, pulling her thin shorts down and off, ending up lying between her legs, her thighs lifted up over his broad shoulders.

“Pretty,” Rumlow murmured, eyeing the soft, light brown curls over her mons. Neatly trimmed – he’d have preferred waxed, but one couldn’t have anything. He’d mention it before he left her tonight. If he played his cards right she’d make the time tomorrow to get a wax done.

Jemma shivered as a thick fingertip traced very lightly around the entrance to her vagina, flicked lightly between her labia.

“You’re wet,” he rumbled. “Is this all for me?” his tone was teasing, and Jemma took a shy peek, flushing even redder as she saw him looking up at her from between her thighs, his dark eyes gleaming with mischief. “You’ll enjoy it even more if you watch,” he promised her.

“I c-can’t,” she whispered shyly, and he nodded.

“Next time.” There was a mirror on her wardrobe door, too. If he propped it open at the right angle and took her sitting on his lap, reverse cowgirl style, she’d be able to see his cock sliding in and out of her pussy. Hardening even further at the thought, he ran his fingers through her slick again – and she was nicely soaking, thoroughly turned on. He wouldn’t have to do a lot, he suspected, to get her to come, not given the way she shuddered and let out a little gasping sigh as he skated a fingertip over her clit before suddenly driving it deep.

Jemma arched up off the bed with a yelp that turned into a squeal, which she silenced by stuffing her hand in her mouth, only too aware of how thin the walls were in the Academy’s dormitories. Rumlow’s thick finger was thrusting steadily inside her even as his hot tongue started slurping over her clit.

She’d masturbated before. Even owned a vibrator. But her fingers weren’t so thick and rough as his, the vibrator too cold and artificial, she recognised now as her body responded to his expert touch like a flower opening to sunlight. The orgasm hit so hard and fast her vision went black for a moment, her teeth sinking into her own hand as she heard him grunt with satisfaction, lapping up her leaking juices.

By the time her vision cleared he’d stripped his clothes off, rolled on a condom and settled back between her legs, licking and nipping at one breast while a strong hand played with the other. Hearing her breathing slowing down he looked up at her, grinning.

“Enjoy that, little girl?”

She could only nod, her heart still thumping fast.

“You’ll like this even better.” He hooked his elbows under her knees, lifting her ass off the bed slightly, lining his bobbing erection up with her wet, pink hole. “Breathe nice and slow, now,” Rumlow ordered as he began to push in. “Can’t have you hyperventilating and passing out on me while I’m giving you the ride of your life.”

She was just as tight as he’d hoped. Virgin, definitely, he was sure, despite the fact that there was no hymen. Plenty of girls ripped the damn things putting in a tampon. Damn, it had been _years_ since he’d popped a cherry. They were fucking rare these days, most girls seemed to lose it long before they hit the bar scene where he usually cruised for chicks. Leaning down, he kissed Jemma hard, letting her taste herself in his mouth, his stubble rasping her tender skin. She’d have to wear makeup tomorrow, he thought with a certain savage satisfaction, rocking his hips faster, pushing deeper as she opened up around him.

It hurt a little bit, but it also felt really, really good. The tip of his cock was rubbing right over an incredibly sensitive spot she realised had to be her G-spot, and oh, goodness, that was… _really_ quite extraordinary. Even more so when Rumlow leaned back after kissing her, bracing himself on one thickly muscled arm, looked down and put his other hand in between them to chafe his thumb over her swollen, sensitive clit.

“Oh, my goodness,” Jemma gasped, feeling little waves of pleasure beginning to course through her as he thrust even harder and deeper. “Oh yes. Oh please!”

She’d forgotten about keeping quiet, was almost screaming as she begged him not to stop, to do it harder. The prim little English miss was gone, replaced by a wanton creature, eyes heavy-lidded with passion, her small hands clutching at his forearms in her desperation.

“Call me _sir_ ,” Rumlow gritted out, feeling his balls beginning to clench up as Jemma writhed and sobbed beneath him.

“Please, sir,” she moaned desperately, “oh sir, please, please, I need it so bad – I’ll be a good girl for you, sir…”

“Fu- _uck_ ,” the climax was hard enough to bow him over her, breathing heavily as his cock spurted hard into her tight hot depths. She was still on the edge, though, and he stayed where he was, kept rubbing on her clit until she came again, spasming tightly around him hard enough to squeeze another dribble of cum from his softening cock.

Jemma could hardly move, wrung out as he eased slowly from her, discarding the condom into the wastebin under her desk with a flick of his wrist. A strong hand stroked slowly down her side.

“Was that your first time?”

She forced her eyes open to see him sitting beside her, looking down at her. Silently she nodded, couldn’t interpret the look she saw come over his face then. “Was I that bad?” she asked a little miserably.

“Eh, no!” he looked genuinely surprised. “Fuckin’ lovely, actually. Hot and tight, and so honest in your responses. I liked it very much. Don’t you ever lose that honesty.”

She smiled slightly, and he nudged at her hip. “Turn over.”

“Hmm?”

“Turn over. I’m gonna massage you. You’re gonna be real sore, otherwise.”

She obeyed, a little stunned, even more so when he grabbed a pot of moisturiser from her dresser and took a gob onto his hands, warming it before beginning to massage her neck.

He had _amazing_ hands. Jemma was a boneless puddle by the time he’d reached her thighs, strong fingers putting pressure in exactly the right places to quickly relax the weary muscles.

“You’ve got a gorgeous little ass,” Rumlow murmured, moving his hands up to cup the pale globes. “It’d look stunning all red.”

She didn’t know what he meant, twisted her head to give him a puzzled look. He grinned wickedly. “Tomorrow night maybe.” Squeezed her ass again, a little harder. “Right now, get on your knees. I’m gonna fuck you again.”

She was startled to see that he was hard again, but she got obediently to her knees, straightening her arms to hold her body upright.

“Not like that,” he tapped on her elbow lightly. “Fold your arms on the mattress, put your forehead on them.”

Jemma obeyed, blushing and glad he couldn’t see her face as she realised how she must look, ass presented in the air.

“So very, very pretty,” he gave her bottom a little smack, and Jemma squeaked. “Now I brought a little toy for you.” Leaning off the bed, he fished for his discarded cargo pants, unzipped pockets. “A couple, actually.”

She couldn’t see what he was doing because he was right behind her. A squelching noise made her frown curiously, and then suddenly there was a cold, wet feeling against her anus. She flinched.

“What… what’s that?”

“A plug.” It was a small one: he’d gone out and bought it that afternoon. He’d leave it as a gift. Maybe she’d even wear it all day tomorrow for him, if he asked. Rumlow hardened further at the thought.

“I don’t… I’ve never…” she wiggled, and the plug sank a little deeper. It was spiralled, with a wide, flat base after a tapered dip.

“Relax,” Rumlow murmured, rubbing her back gently. “This is gonna feel so good when I fuck you with this in. You’ll want it in all the time.”

“I d-argh,” she moaned as he gave the plug a twist, screwing it in a little further. He’d lubed it up thoroughly but was in no hurry, watching with pleasure as the tiny pucker of her ass stretched around the silicone. His other hand curved under her to play with her clit again, slick with a lube that had some sort of stimulant in it, Jemma realised as a mild tingling sensation followed his touch. She moaned almost frantically as he twisted the plug again.

“It’s good, isn’t it baby?” Rumlow murmured, his lips trailing down her spine.

“Yyyyuuuhhh,” Jemma couldn’t form a coherent thought, never mind words. She trembled as he stopped twisting for a moment, playing with her clit, the tingling intensifying steadily. “Plaaarhhhh.”

He smiled against her pale, delicate skin. So sensitive. He’d found a good one here. Turned the plug again, screwing it to its thickest point and _holding_ it there.

“Guhhhh!”

“Good girl.” He scissored his fingers over her clit quickly. “Come for me, Jemma.”

She couldn’t have refused even if she’d wanted to, the shivery blackness creeping over her again quickly as the pain/pleasure intensified. As she shuddered and gasped, he gave the plug a last little turn so that it popped in fully, the narrow spot gripped by the ring of muscle, before reaching for another condom. Jemma was just coming down from the high when he pushed steadily into her from behind.

“Oh _god_ uhhhhh…” she was so _full_. And then his groin bumped against the plug’s base, moving it inside her, and Jemma let out an animal sound, a wild, wordless howl.

“That’s it,” Rumlow grunted, his hands firm on her hips. “Like that, don’t you? Feels good, huh?”

She couldn’t respond verbally, just shuddering and crying out beneath him, her fingers clawing wildly at the sheets.

“Yeah. That’s it.” He set up a quick, driving rhythm. “ _Nice_ , baby,” he growled, feeling her tight internal muscles fluttering as her orgasm continued, rippling waves of ecstasy, sucking him quickly back up to the brink again. He made sure to go to full depth with every stroke, each time slamming in a little harder, banging on the plug and jolting it until she was screaming and sobbing, begging frantically with every rough thrust. “Awwhhhh, _yeah_ ,” he groaned at last, back arching as he pushed deep one last time, feeling her weak little flutters as her exhausted muscles tried to respond.

Jemma collapsed when he finally pulled out, limp and barely conscious. She was barely aware of Rumlow moving quietly around, cleaning up, pulling on his clothes. She twitched and moaned a little when he gently removed the plug and wiped her down with a damp washcloth, but she was completely asleep by the time he tucked her into bed.

Jemma woke with a sore but deeply satisfied feeling saturating her whole body. Stretching slowly, careful of her sore muscles, she glanced around. He was gone, of course. She hadn’t expected him to stay. Something out of place caught her eye, though, and she blinked.

There on the night stand stood a pink silicone anal plug, about four inches long, spiralled and tapering to a slender point. Blushing as she looked at it, Jemma suddenly spotted the piece of paper beneath it and reached out.

_Wear this for me today_. _I’ll bring you another present tonight_. _And if you get time, would you go get a wax? I want to spend a lot more time eating you out, but I’m not a fan of hair in my teeth._

It was unsigned, of course. He was, after all, a teacher, even if a temporary one. Scarlet-cheeked, Jemma tore the note into shreds and threw it into her wastebin. And then she looked at the clock. If she hurried, she’d have time to get to the Student Centre and get a wax done. They’d have lube in the shop too, and she should probably buy some of her own condoms…

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Thank you to those of you who responded to my panicked Tumblr post asking if American Universities had something like a Student Union, with small shops, cafeteria and possibly a beauty salon/hairdresser. The consensus was ‘sometimes’!**
> 
> **Since this is SHIELD Academy, and appeared in AoS to be fairly separated from the real-world, plus privately funded, and I don’t think SHIELD would want their students to have too much opportunity to blather Seekrits to their hairdresser/beauty therapist, I elected to have one on site.**
> 
> **The uni I went to, incidentally, Southampton University in the UK, did have all those things on site in the student union, despite being very close to shops etc. The hairdresser was subsidised too so we got cheap haircuts! This was of course 20 years ago so it’s probably all different by now, but what the hell. It’s my headcanon ;)**


	4. We Do Everything Together (Steve/Bucky/Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **As requested by katherinekittentaylor, who won a prize from my 500 Followers Tumblr Giveaway and requested this! Sorry it’s taken me a while, but I hope you enjoy!**
> 
>  

"Thank you, but no."

The man whose offer of coffee you'd just turned down looked completely blank. As though he couldn't comprehend your words. "It's just coffee."

"And I just don't want any. So, thank you for the offer, but no." You turned to walk away, brought up short by the hand on your upper arm.

"Tea?"

"No. Thank you."

The grip tightened, pulling you back to face him. "Why not? I'm in Human Resources, I've seen your file, you said you were unattached. Not _lying_ on your intake form, were you, sweetheart?" He backed you towards a wall. You tried to wrench your arm free of his grip, unsuccessfully. Bastard was strong.

"I wasn't lying," you snapped, by now thoroughly sick of this jerk. "But, you know what? Even single girls have the right to say no."

There was that ridiculously uncomprehending look again, and this time you failed to restrain the impulse to roll your eyes.

"I don't want to get coffee with you. I don't want to go on a date with you. I don't want to sleep with you. I'm not interested." You spoke slowly, as though trying to get the message through to a very small child.

"Why not?"

"I don't owe you a reason!" _Because you're short, fat, balding, twice my age and married_. He wasn't the only one who got to see personnel files. Your job in Computer Services meant you had access to nearly all the Avengers Facility's files. After the third time this twit asked you out, you checked up on him.

This was the fifth time. Only this time, he'd managed to catch you alone, coming out of the server room in the basement - wait, what was he doing down here anyway? Suddenly, you started to feel afraid.

"You're just playing hard to get, you little slut," he pushed you back towards the wall - and went flying, his hand ripped off your arm.

"You ever fucking speak like that to a lady again and I'll hunt you down and carve you into tiny little pieces."

It was the Winter Soldier, Bucky Barnes, looming over your assailant like some dark angel of mercy. Captain America, as ever right beside him, approached you, his handsome face etched with concern.

"Are you all right, Miss? We heard what he was saying to you."

"I'm fine," you gasped, a little stunned at being face to face with two legends.

"Do you want to press charges?"

You thought about it, but in the end shook your head. The jerk had a nasty fright, and he was most definitely going to lose his job anyway, because there was an absolute no-harassment policy at the facility, and you now had two unimpeachable witnesses.

"Get outta my sight," Bucky growled, and the fat asshole scraped himself off the floor where he'd been thrown and ran as fast as his chubby little legs would carry him.

Bucky turned to look at you, and to his astonishment lifted gentle fingers to touch your upper arm lightly. "Think you're gonna get a bruise there, doll."

"Oh, I, um, maybe. I'll be fine. It's fine. Really." Oh hell, now you'd been reduced to a stuttering idiot. But there were two superheroes towering over you, concern on both their faces.

"It isn't fine, Miss, let us take you up to Dr. Cho's lab and she can give you something, or maybe use one of her clever machines," Steve disagreed.

"Y/N."

"Hm?" Steve looked blank.

"It's Y/N, not Miss. Please."

"Well," his beautiful smile bloomed. "In that case, I'm Steve and this is Bucky."

You laughed shyly. "I know who you are, sir."

"Steve!"

"Steve. And Bucky," as his dark-haired best friend grinned at you too. Those blue eyes, _ugh_ , he was _devastating_. They both were. How on earth Ms. Romanoff and Ms. Maximoff managed to keep their heads around this pair was more than you could comprehend.

"Well, that's very kind of you, Y/N," Bucky drawled, and to your utmost horror you realised you'd said that last thought _out loud_.

"I'm gonna run away now."

"Please don't," Steve said it quietly, but with a wealth of meaning in the words. "I think Buck and I would both feel the need to chase after you."

You looked up at them, at the intense looks they were both giving you. Gulped.

"B-both of you?"

"We do everythin' together," Bucky said, and the look he gave you, his eyes sweeping down to your toes and back up again, made it very clear what he was thinking about _doing_.

"You... do?" It was common knowledge around the Facility that Bucky and Steve shared an apartment. You'd heard speculation that they shared a bedroom, too, but nobody knew for sure, and they didn't display anything more than friendly affection in public.

"We'd sure like to," Steve affirmed, and he was giving you a look that was just as heated, just as masculine.

_I'm hallucinating, aren't I? I fell and hit my head and I'm having a really, really amazing dream._

"Nope."

"Oh shit I said that out loud!"

They were both grinning, moving closer. "Could be more than just an amazing dream, doll," Bucky lifted a hand, brushed his fingers lightly down your jawline. "Could be the best night of your life."

“I really must be dreaming,” you said, staring up at him dazedly, “because there’s no way either of you would ever want me, never mind both of you.”

“Whatever makes you say that?” Steve moved on closer on your other side, his hand curving lightly around your wrist before he lifted your hand and pressed a slow, moist kiss to the back of your hand. “Buck ‘n I have had our eyes on you for a while.”

“Wanted to do much more’n just look, too,” Bucky was closer again, his fingers slipping down to caress lightly at your neck. “Wanted to touch, but we figured a classy dame like you would’ve been snapped up long ago, and we weren’t gonna poach on another guy’s patch.”

You started looking around.

“What are you looking for?” Steve asked, following your gaze and frowning as he realised you weren’t really looking at anything.

“The portal to the parallel dimension I’ve clearly fallen through.”

That made both of them laugh. Steve let go of your wrist, and as though at an unspoken signal, Bucky dropped his hand from your face and they both took a step back.

“This is the real world, Y/N.” It was Steve who spoke, his face serious. “The choice is yours. You’re the kind of girl Buck and I have dreamed about sharing, but… I understand that it’s a pretty extreme idea, both of us at once.”

“It’s a really _hot_ idea,” you said without stopping to consider how they’d take that.

“In the abstract or as in, you’d like to find out?” Bucky’s voice had lowered, deepened, as he gazed down at you, his eyelids drooping a little.

You swallowed, licked your lips. _I’d be mad to turn this offer down. I’d regret it for the rest of my life_. “I think I’d very much like to find out.”

Surprisingly, it was Steve who leant in to kiss you first, considering the way Bucky had been looking at you. Steve’s mouth was hot, hungry as he hauled you against him, and then suddenly Bucky was there behind you, sandwiching you between two massive, hard bodies, Bucky’s mouth hot on your neck as he pressed his face in, nipping and licking as the sensitive flesh.

Steve’s kiss was far more demanding than you’d have expected, his tongue urgent as he thrust it between your lips to taste your mouth, his strong hands on your waist holding you close. You were quickly getting a crick in your neck, though, and tried to pull back. Steve made a little growling noise, seeking to keep kissing you, but you got a hand on his chest and pressed lightly.

“Wait.”

Bucky lifted his head with a reluctant grumble. “Why?”

“Because we’re in a basement corridor outside the server room.”

“Ehhhh,” Steve grinned ruefully, reluctantly moving back a little. “Damn, she’s right, Buck.”

“Eugh,” Bucky moved back too, and you shivered, suddenly cold with the loss of their heated bodies against yours.

“That said, my shift finished ten minutes ago,” you said hastily, “and I really don’t have anywhere to be, I was just going to head back to my quarters…”

There was a staff apartment complex just a short walk from the main facility. You only had a small studio apartment, but it was your own place, you didn’t have to share with anyone, and the rent couldn’t be beat – it was _free_. With hefty debts from your student loans, free rent – and food, in the top-notch cafeteria – on top of the very decent salary you were drawing – was the reason why there had been literally thousands of applicants to work at the facility, despite the possibility of attacks against the Avengers.

“Don’t go,” Bucky said quietly. “Come to our apartment.”

You’d already made your mind up, so you nodded. Accepted Steve’s hand as he offered it, let him lead you along the hallway until you got to an elevator, one you normally couldn’t access. Steve’s palm on the access panel caused the steel doors to slide noiselessly open, though, and then the elevator zoomed all three of you up to the facility’s top floor.

“Nice,” you murmured, looking around with lively interest as you stepped out of the elevator car, both men waiting chivalrously for you to go first. There was a big ‘common’ area up here, one entire end of the building, and then a long hallway leading away had doors on both sides that led to the individual apartments.

There was no one in the comfortably appointed common area, for which you felt extremely grateful. You’d never spoken to any of the other Avengers and the thought of them seeing you going into Steve and Bucky’s apartment with them, well, it was a bit uncomfortable to say the least.

“This way,” Bucky’s hand landed on the small of your back, and he guided you along the corridor.

Their apartment turned out to be all the way at the end. You looked around curiously as Steve opened the door and held it politely for you; their furniture looked old – as in antique old – but comfortable and lived-in. Through an open door you glimpsed a huge bed – was that actually a four-poster? Taking a tentative step forward, you peered in that direction.

“That’s where we’re headed, babe,” Bucky’s voice was low and rasping, his blue eyes, when you looked around, intent on you.

“But we should be good hosts and ask first if you’re hungry or thirsty?” Steve asked, turning back towards you as he finished closing the door.

Shaking your head, you stood twisting your hands together in front of you, a little nervous. “No… no, I ate dinner during my break a little while ago.”

“Good,” Bucky had moved closer, stood right behind you, his breath warm on your neck. “Think I’d go mad if I had to wait too long.”

Turning to look at him, you smiled seductively. “You don’t have to wait at all.”

Bright blue eyes darkened, and you heard the faint sound of gears shifting as the fingers of his metal hand shifted. It was the other hand he moved, though, slipping it around your waist and pulling you close before he bent his head.

You’d had dreams about Bucky Barnes’ mouth. It was far too sensual for a man, plush pink lips – and he did seem to have an inordinately distracting habit of licking his lips. He licked them now just before kissing you, his mouth warm and sweet-tasting, the kiss hungry.

“Damn,” you heard Steve murmur distantly, and Bucky laughed softly against your mouth before lifting his head. You both looked at Steve to find him standing staring at you, hand pressed against his groin, his expression aroused.

“Come on over here,” you invited with a smile, “better yet, let’s take all this into the bedroom – eek!” Bucky had scooped you off your feet and carried you into the bedroom, tossing you onto the bed. You bounced with an indignant squeal.

“Bucky, you jerk, that’s no way to treat a lady!” Steve reproached sternly.

You laughed up at them both. “Would a _lady_ be here agreeing to be with both of you, Steve? Would a lady do this?” Reaching up, you unfastened the top button of your blouse. Two pairs of eyes riveted on you, two broad chests inflated with deep breaths as you moved down and unfastened another button. Thank goodness it was laundry day yesterday and you were wearing your best undies. Pretty lace peeped out from the gap as your blouse parted.

“Feelin’ kinda lonely over here all on my lonesome, fellas,” you offered up a winning smile, and they moved both together, almost in perfect sync, reaching the bed in a couple of quick strides. Bucky stopped to kick his boots off while Steve peeled his shirt off over his head even as he sat down on the bed.

“You’re beautiful,” it was Steve who spoke, but the look in Bucky’s eyes said the exact same thing as he wrenched his shirt off, throwing it carelessly aside. Your eyes fastened on his scars, on the rough, ridged flesh where his metal arm met his body.

“Oh,” Bucky made to turn away, his flesh hand coming up to press over the scars. “I’m sorry, it’s so ugly…”

“Bucky!” Going to your knees you reached out imploringly to him. “Don’t, please. I want you. Arm and all.”

From the corner of your eye, you saw Steve’s smile. “Told ya, Buck. Told you she wouldn’t judge you by it. She’s not that kind of girl, are you, beautiful?”

“Definitely not.” Bucky still stood hesitant at the end of the bed, so you crawled towards him, aware that your breasts were definitely showing to advantage as your blouse gaped open. Bucky’s lips parted, a flush rising on his high cheekbones as you went to him, kneeling upright at the end of the bed, lifting a hand to brush lightly over the ridged, scarred flesh on his chest before you trailed your fingers down the metal arm, skating lightly over the tightly interlocking plates.

“It’s part of you,” you told him quietly, eyes locked with his, seeing his pupils dilate as you spoke. “It’s as beautiful as every other part of you – and I want you to touch me with it.”

Still he hesitated, until you took hold of his hand and tugged gently. He let you lift it, or lifted it for you, motors and gears whirring softly as it moved – until you brought it to your mouth and sucked two fingers inside, still watching him.

Bucky drew in a sharp breath. “ _Fuck_ , babe,” he muttered on the exhale.

“Can you feel this?” you whispered, before sucking his fingers in again, curling your tongue around them. The metal didn’t taste of anything in particular, cool on your tongue.

“Kind of. It’s… different.” A grin quirked up one corner of his mouth. “I’d rather you sucked something else.”

“Oh, I can do that,” letting his fingers out of your mouth regretfully, you reached for his belt. His black leather pants were tight enough that you could see clearly how hard he was beneath – and that he was _big_ , thick and long.

Bucky’s grin widened as you unfastened the belt and his pants, pushed them down off his hips along with the plain black jockey shorts he had on underneath. His cock sprang free, pointing eagerly towards you, and you leaned in, opening your mouth for a quick lick around the tip. Bucky’s cock was thick enough that it was a slightly uncomfortable stretch for your lips to take him in, but you weren’t going to let that stop you.

“Ah, doll,” cool metal fingers caressed gently under your jaw, his other hand slid into your hair. “You’re so fucking beautiful like that.”

You’d almost forgotten Steve’s presence, he’d been so quiet, until you felt him move on the bed, kneeling behind you. His hands slipped around to your waist and you felt him unfastening the remaining buttons on your blouse, slipping it from your shoulders. In short order your bra followed so you were naked to the waist, and then Steve’s big, warm hands were cupping your breasts, tweaking and teasing your nipples as he pressed slow, hot kisses on your shoulder.

Bucky was making low, hungry sounds in his throat, as your head bobbed, taking him deep into your mouth with each pass. Your hands were braced on the sides of his legs, holding yourself steady as you licked and sucked all over him, tonguing up the little dribbles of pre-cum that gathered in the slit at the tip of his cock.

“Damn, but you’re good,” Bucky breathed it, his breath coming in short pants, his eyes closed. “Feels _so_ good.”

You hummed deliberately, letting your throat tremor, smirked around him as he let out a muffled shout, fingers tightening in your hair briefly.

“Wicked woman,” Steve chuckled quietly behind you, and you realised he was watching Bucky’s face. “He’s close,” it was a quiet warning, and you nodded to show your understanding, but didn’t pull off.

“Ahhhh, doll,” it’s a long, drawn-out moan from Bucky, and you felt the pulse through your lips, swallowed hard as he came down your throat – good grief, there was a _lot_ of that, almost choking you. Swallowing again quickly, you pulled back, devoting a good minute to licking him clean, slow delicate licks as he caressed your hair slowly.

At last, Bucky sighed and moved back before bending down to kiss you, obviously not caring about the taste of him in your mouth. He smiled directly into your eyes before looking behind you at Steve.

“This beautiful lady ain’t having fun yet, punk.”

“Oh, but I am,” you disagreed at once, glancing down to where Steve’s hands had never ceased playing with your breasts. Your nipples stood out stiff and distended, and Bucky hummed with pleasure at the sight before reaching out to grasp your waist gently.

“Let’s get you more comfortable, doll.”

“Do you mean naked?” you asked cheekily as he lifted and Steve pulled, tugging you back on the bad to lay on top of him, your head resting on his huge pectoral muscles. “Because I like the sound of that.”

Steve chuckled in your ear, his hands still busy with your breasts, tugging a little more sharply at your nipples, making you arch and gasp. “Cheeky little minx.” He pulled and pinched at your nipples as Bucky stripped the rest of your clothes away, spreading your legs apart over Steve’s.

“So pretty,” Bucky murmured, and suddenly his tongue was _there_ , playing with your clit, the added sensation on top of what Steve was doing almost too much, too intense. You flung out your hands, desperate for something to cling to, and Bucky caught your hands in his, holding them firmly as his tongue worked.

It was mere moments before the climax hit, arching you up off Steve, hoarse cries spilling from your lips as your whole body tremored. Bucky made a pleased humming sound against you and kept licking, gentling his strokes as you got sensitive.

“Feel good, beautiful?” Steve murmured softly. “You feel amazing.” His hands gentled on your breasts, too, fingertips just flicking over your aching nipples. You could only get out a moan in response as Bucky worked on your clit softly.

“What do you want, sweetheart?” Steve asked quietly as you writhed atop him.

“Want – want to be fucked. You,” you could feel him hard against your ass through his pants. “Want you to fuck me. Fill me. Please.”

He let out a soft huff of breath, and you felt rather than heard Bucky chuckle against you before he moved back.

“Girl’s reading your mind, Stevie.” He was tracing around your clit with a fingertip – a _metal_ fingertip, oh, dear God, the cold after the heat of his mouth had you arching again, making broken, strangled sounds.

“Like you don’t want to fuck her senseless as well,” vaguely you heard Steve jibe back, and then he released your breasts, lifted you off him in one smooth easy movement.

You protested – right up until a cool metal finger slid up inside you. “Oh my God.”

Bucky laughed huskily, and you realised he was watching you, his blue eyes bright, his long brown hair hanging in them slightly, his full lips glistening. Steve, standing just behind him, was yanking his pants off.

You really didn’t know where to look. There was just too much goodness to feast your eyes on. Steve was all light and brightness, blond hair and golden skin, Bucky his hard-edged, darker shadow. Bucky solved the conundrum by thrusting another metal finger deep inside you, making you squeal with ecstasy, your eyes drifting closed despite how very much you wanted to keep looking.

The mattress sank beside you and you heard a rip, fought your heavy eyelids to look over and see Steve sitting up against the headboard, rolling a condom on as he avidly watched Bucky fingering you.

“Come here and ride me, beautiful,” he requested huskily, holding a big hand out towards you.

“Yes,” you agreed breathily, tried to scrabble your way towards him, eyes fixed on his cock, swollen and hard as he gave it a few lazy strokes.

“You want this? Come and get it,” Steve invited with a wicked smirk.

“Uuuhhh,” you had to pull yourself off Bucky’s fingers to do that, and you really didn’t want to, but oh, that cock looked so tempting… Bucky laughed and withdrew his hand.

“She’s enjoying herself too much, punk. Make sure you give her a damn good time, now.”

It took a moment for you to get your shaking limbs back under control, but then you rolled over and crawled towards Steve, looking up at him through your lashes.

“You want some of this booty?” you grinned, straddling his muscled thighs, leaning in for a kiss, remembering too late that your mouth would still taste of Bucky’s come.

Which Steve obviously liked. He licked into your mouth eagerly, making delighted little sounds, his hands settling on your hips to guide you closer, hips rocking so that his cock rubbed along your cleft, chafing on your clit in a way that made you moan into his mouth and grind back hard against him.

“Fuuuck,” it was a strangled gasp from Bucky that made you pull back and look around. He was stripping rapidly, eyes fixed on you sitting on Steve’s lap.

And rather to your surprise, he was already hard again, taking his cock in hand once he had his clothes completely off and stroking it, watching the pair of you.

“Uhh… so should I assume that the speculation about super-soldier refractory periods is in fact true?” you quipped lightly.

Steve laughed huskily, lifting you slowly. “One hundred percent, beautiful.” He rolled his hips in a slow circle, rubbing the tip of his cock around your entrance. “I haven’t heard any speculation about our _stamina_ , though. Shall I show you just how long I can go for? How many times I can make you come?”

He was lowering you as he spoke, his cock sliding deep into your soaked depths, his voice getting a little tighter, which was good. You wouldn’t want to think that he was unaffected, because you sure as hell were, your eyes just about rolling back in your head at how good he felt pushing deep, deep inside you.

“Omigod, oh _Steve_ ,” you scrabbled at his shoulders, digging your nails in, clinging to him as he easily lifted and lowered you on  his rock-hard cock.

Suddenly there were hands cupping your breasts again, Bucky, kneeling beside you both, tweaking your nipples until you gasped before he leaned in and took one of them into his heated mouth, suckling hard.

Wracking tremors kept rippling through your whole body, tightening you on Steve as he thrust, making him groan deep in his chest.

“That’s it,” he gasped, “oh yes, ahhh, so good, beautiful… want to feel you come on me. Please.” He gazed at you, his eyes impossibly blue behind a thick fringe of golden lashes, looking so perfect – you had a sudden urge to mess him up, shoved your fingers into his thick blond hair to ruffle it, scratch at his scalp. He groaned and pushed up into your fingers, eyes closing and lips parting, so you leaned in and gave him another filthy kiss, all teeth and tongue, rolling your hips hard to grind his cock deep inside you.

Bucky’s teeth tugged at your nipple, making you shudder then, and his hand slid in between you and Steve to finger at your clit.

“Soaked,” he murmured, pulling his mouth from your breast. “Fucking soaked, you like this? Does he feel good, inside you?”

“So good,” is about all you can pant as he rubs your clit faster, matching Steve’s rhythm of thrusts. “So _aaah_!”

“That’s it,” Steve growls out, jerking his hips faster, his fingers digging lightly into your hips, “come on, beautiful, come for me, want to feel it _oh yes_!”

You couldn’t have held it back even if you’d wanted to, not with Bucky suckling on one nipple, his metal fingers playing the other as his flesh hand worked your clit and Steve’s thick cock pistoned hard inside you, rubbing right over your G-spot with every long stroke. Letting your head fall back, you shrieked with ecstasy, your whole body shaking hard.

“Oh God! Oh God,” you collapsed onto Steve’s broad chest, and he chuckled, rubbing your back gently.

“Stop taking His name in vain,” he chided gently.

“Unf. Considering your current activity, even for a good Catholic boy you’re in no position to throw stones,” you mumbled against his neck.

Bucky laughed. “She’s got you there, punk.”

“Obviously we’re not trying hard enough, if she can still think straight.”

Something unspoken passed between the two men, and then you felt Bucky’s hand on your back, stroking gently down your spine.

“(Y/N).”

“Ummm.”

His fingers trailed lower, caressed over your buttocks, as he leant in and pressed slow kisses against your shoulder.

“We want to share you.”

“Yeah…” your brain was really pretty scrambled right then, but you lifted your head, blinked at him slowly. “Yeah?”

“Think you can take both of us?” His eyes gleamed at you, one dark brow quirking.

“Both – together?” It wasn’t something you’d ever tried. But certainly you were aware of the possibility. Had even – maybe – woken once or twice from a dream of doing that exact thing. With these two men.

Once again, you had to consider the possibility that you were actually dreaming right at that moment. But you didn’t think you could have ever dreamed how good Steve felt inside you. How ridiculously turned on you felt.

“Yes,” you gasped in answer to Bucky’s inquiring glance. “Yes, yes I want it, I want you, I want you _both_.”

He nodded, eyes never leaving yours, before reaching over to the nightstand and fishing in the open drawer there. Pulling out another condom packet – and a bottle of lube.

_Oh – that was probably a good idea._ You watched avidly as he rolled the condom on before slicking his fingers and moving to kneel behind you. Steve parted his knees to make room for Bucky, spreading you a little further open.

“Play with her clit while I open her up, Stevie,” Bucky ordered, “make sure (Y/N)’s having a good time.”

“Oh, I’m pretty sure she’s having a good time, aren’t you, beautiful?” Steve murmured, but he did as Bucky said and eased a big hand down, scissoring two fingers lightly over your clit.

“Yes,” you panted, a little mewl escaping you as you felt one of Bucky’s wet fingers press against the tight ring of your ass. “Yes, oh God, oh yes, _hnnnggghh_!”

“Easy,” Bucky kissed your shoulder and neck slowly, wet open-mouthed kisses, as his finger eased slowly in. “Just relax into it.”

“That’s – easy for – you to say!” you panted. It was difficult not to writhe on Steve, but that would make what Bucky was doing feel even more intense, so you clung to him instead, pressing your damp brow against his collarbone.

“Sshh,” one strong hand rubbed at the back of your neck, the other strummed your clit, and Bucky eased another finger in.

It took a few moments for you to realise that the low, wordless moan was coming from your throat. But it was a moan of ecstasy, not pain, and both men recognised that. Bucky bit down lightly on your shoulder as his fingers scissored apart, moving easily now as the muscle relaxed, and you moaned louder and shuddered against him.

“You’re close, aren’t you?” Steve murmured, easing his fingers off your clit. You sobbed with the loss, making him chuckle huskily.

“Not yet, beautiful.”

You loved the way he called you that. It made you _feel_ beautiful, desirable. His warm lips sought yours, kissed you hungrily as Bucky’s delving fingers opened you wider. It felt painful and wonderful all at the same time as Bucky worked slowly, his hot mouth lavishing kisses down your spine all the while.

“Please,” you begged finally, tearing your mouth from Steve’s. “Please, Bucky!”

He laughed huskily in response, moved closer, slipping his fingers out of you. Steve grinned. “Eager, beautiful?”

“Mm,” you’d come down away from that sharp edge of pleasure, but he was still thick and hard and hot inside you, pressing on some extremely good spots. “Aaah!” your back arched as Bucky pressed against you, the thick, latex-sheathed head of his cock squeezing slowly past the tight muscle of your ass.

“Okay, beautiful?” it was Steve who checked, Bucky was making eager panting sounds behind you and you suspected that probably felt as good to him as it did to you.

“Yes… yes, just… s-s-slow,” you gasped as Bucky edged a little deeper before pulling back a fraction.

“Oh, doll,” warm lips caressed the back of your neck, his stubble rasping a little on your skin, making goose-bumps flare up. “You feel so good. Just wanna slam home and make you scream.”

“Behave, you jerk,” Steve’s voice was amused, but a little strained, and you realised you must be tightening on him as Bucky filled you up.

“Says the man who’s already balls-deep,” you gasped, making both of them chuckle and causing you to let out a little squeal as they shifted inside you.

“You’re sassy, I like it,” Bucky nipped at the back of your neck, pressing a little deeper. “Bad girl.”

“If this is what bad girls get I’m gonna misbehave all the _oh God yes, please, please, Steve! Bucky!_ ” your voice rose to a shriek as Steve rolled his hips, pressing up into you and pushing you back hard onto Bucky’s cock at the same time. Bucky slid deep with a sudden rush and you lost your mind completely, thrashing and clawing at Steve’s shoulders as Bucky’s hands tightened over your breasts.

“Mary Mother of God!” even Steve’s profanity filter failed as you came _hard_ , tightening convulsively on both of them, and Bucky growled out several what you vaguely guessed were Russian swear words.

“Don’t stop,” you managed to pant somehow in between cries of ecstasy, and they took you at your word, both of them moving, fucking you through it, keeping you at the crest of pleasure for longer than you’d ever have thought possible. And then, as you came down, pushing you back up again, and _again_ , until you were just a sobbing, pleasure-wracked mess in between the two of them.

Finally Steve let go his own iron control, surged inside you with a shout, and Bucky followed scant seconds later, both of them pulsing hotly together inside you.

Utterly wrung out, exhausted, you collapsed limply to the bed as they both eased carefully out. Barely conscious, you were nonetheless aware of them gently arranging your limbs in a comfortable position, one of them carefully wiping you down with a warm wet cloth as the other smoothed your hair, low masculine voices praising you softly as they curled up on either side of you, a delicious sandwich of masculine muscle.

It was hot lying in between two super-soldiers with enhanced metabolisms and you instinctively sought the coolest spot, resting your head with utter trust on Bucky’s metal shoulder and falling asleep within moments, unaware of his startlement, the way his other hand came hesitantly up to stroke your sweat-damp hair.

You woke alone in a massive bed with your whole body still thrumming with pleasure. Stretching luxuriantly, hissing slightly as muscles unaccustomed to exercise protested their movement, you listened and heard male voices in the other room.

Your clothes were nowhere to be seen, so you shrugged and gathered a sheet around you, tucking it in toga-style before heading to the door.

What a sight greeted your eyes; Steve and Bucky both wearing only running shorts, moving around the kitchen in the early morning sunshine pouring through the big windows, making coffee and toast. They were both gleaming with a light sheen of sweat, had obviously been exercising. Leaning on the doorframe you just stared, lost for words.

Bucky spotted you first, his smile broadening. “Good morning, Sleeping Beauty.”

“(Y/N)!” Steve exclaimed, smiling at you as well. “You’re awake – we weren’t sure what time you needed to get up for work…”

“I don’t.” Grinning back at him, you pushed off the doorframe, headed across the room and stole his coffee.

“You don’t?” Steve parroted, bemused.

“I’m rostered off today. Mmm,” you inhaled the coffee aroma, took a deep swig.

“Excellent,” Bucky said cheerfully, putting more bread into the toaster.

“It is?” Steve glanced across the top of your head at Bucky.

“Yeah.” Bucky gave you a slow smile. “Means that after we’ve fed (Y/N) some to get her energy levels back up, we can take her back to bed and spend the rest of the day makin’ her scream our names.”

You had to put the coffee down and hold onto the edge of the kitchen counter as your knees went weak at the mere suggestion. Steve grinned as he caught onto Bucky’s plan.

“I am _very_ on board with that idea,” he agreed. “How about you, beautiful?”

“Oh, yes _please_ ,” you said fervently, then thought you’d sounded too eager – but both men were smiling broadly, obviously happy with your response.

“We could skip breakfast…” Steve began.

“No we can’t,” Bucky disagreed. “We’re _all_ gonna need the energy.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Hope this hits the spot for my readers; I’m slowly getting the hang of the Reader Insert thing, I think!**


	5. Wolves At The Door

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _This fic is set during and between Season 2, episode 3 to 5, and uses some lines of dialogue from the episodes. The provisional Marvel timeline separates these episodes by some 6 months._
> 
> This is the last of my 500 Followers Giveaway Gift Fics. I'm sorry it took so long, [Trooperschaf](http://trooperschaf.tumblr.com/) but I hope you'll be satisfied with the filth!
> 
> **WARNING. This is NOT nice!Rumlow. This is bad canon!Rumlow, and Bakshi's the canon version as well.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **After the events of The Wolf And The Doe, Rumlow spends the next week inducting Jemma in his very particular sexual preferences. In the years after that, they run across each other from time to time and every single time, Jemma finds herself drawn to him in a way she can’t explain. Rumlow never promises anything more than whatever nights he can give her, never attempts to contact her in between those times, but she would never turn down the chance of a night with him and he knows it.**
> 
> **Jemma tries a few times to date other guys. Sleeps with one or two. But the sex is so dull, so bland, she can’t even be bothered to give them a second try. She’s devastated when she finds out Rumlow was HYDRA and was crushed in the rubble of the Triskelion. She can’t tell any of the rest of the team, though, because her liaison with Rumlow would make her very suspect in their eyes. It was always a secret, even from Fitz. When Coulson offers her the chance to get away, to go undercover in HYDRA, she jumps at the chance.**
> 
>  
> 
> **She doesn’t expect to find herself strangely attracted to a man she KNOWS for sure is an immoral, sadistic killer. Sunil Bakshi holds a curious fascination for her, though, and somehow she can’t quite stop looking at him from the corner of her eye whenever he’s close.**
> 
>  
> 
> **In Morocco, Jemma pushes Bakshi away from the bullet Skye fires, even though she knows Skye is aiming to miss, doing her best to help Jemma cement her cover.**
> 
>  
> 
> **In Bakshi’s eyes, though, Jemma just saved his life. And on the HYDRA private jet taking them back, he decides to express his gratitude.**

 

“Thank you, Dr. Simmons.”

“What?” Jemma’s head jerked up.

“I said, thank you. You saved my life. That sniper already hit Gill; I would have been next if you hadn’t pushed me out of the way.”

Bakshi was sitting opposite her and had just set aside the papers he was perusing, looking at her directly. His eyes were so very dark, Jemma thought; as black as his soul. She felt like a mouse being eyed by a hungry snake.

“It was nothing, sir,” she tried to brush it off. “I just – it was self-preservation. I wasn’t sure if they were aiming at me or you, just did my best to get us both out of the way.”

“Still,” he said quietly, holding her eyes. “You have my gratitude.”

To Jemma’s astonishment, and horror, she felt a blush rising up her cheeks at being the focus of his attention. “Well, you’re welcome,” she mumbled, casting her eyes down. She could feel him staring at her for a long time afterwards, though she didn’t look up again. Just closed her eyes and pretended to go to sleep.

Eventually she drifted into a sort of twilight doze, startled out of it as the jet came in to land and Bakshi leaned over to her to pull her seatbelt tight.

“What – oh!”

“It’s all right, Dr. Simmons,” his lips twitched slightly as she jerked. “Just making sure you’re not going to get thrown into my lap by the force of deceleration as we land.”

The traitorous blush was rising up Jemma’s cheeks again as she watched him settle back into his chair, securing his own seatbelt, and suddenly she realised what it was about Bakshi that unsettled her so.

He reminded her of Rumlow. Yes, Bakshi had his immaculate suits while Rumlow was never seen in anything but STRIKE gear, but there was an air about both men, something that screamed _DANGER_ to her senses. Jemma did her best to push the thought away, but the blush in her cheeks didn’t fade and she was aware that she was becoming uncomfortably damp between her legs. Steadfastly she stared at her feet until the plane finally taxied to a stop and they were able to disembark.

Jemma headed for the black van she and the HYDRA soldiers had transferred to the airport in, knowing that the limo just beside it would be waiting for Bakshi. A hand on her arm stopped her just before she climbed into the van.

“You’re with me, Dr. Simmons,” Bakshi inclined his head towards the limo.

“I… am, sir?”

His hand around her elbow wasn’t a tight grip, but he guided her to the limo steadily and she was left with no choice but to get inside, nodding politely to the uniformed chauffeur holding the door open for them. Bakshi slid in beside her.

“I’m passing your building. Your bag, I believe?” He held out her satchel and Jemma clutched it nervously, even though she knew there was nothing incriminating inside.

Bakshi said nothing to her on the drive, looking out of the window at the passing traffic, and Jemma slowly allowed herself to relax. It had been a long, tense, tiring day.

“We’re here,” Bakshi’s voice startled her from reverie, and she turned towards him, blinking to see her building outside the car window.

“Yes. Yes we are,” she said a bit dumbly.

“Unless you’d care to have dinner with me?”

“What?” she blinked at him, completely flabbergasted.

“Dinner,” Bakshi said in patient tones. “A restaurant. You and me, maybe a bottle of wine. To say thank you.”

“I…” _think you’re an evil psychopath but you’re also really attractive and my boss would probably tell me to say yes anyway so I can pump you for information_ … “I’m really tired. Perhaps another night?” Jemma found herself saying, rather to her horror. She really was too tired to watch her words carefully tonight, though.

“Of course.” He didn’t seem to take offence, just stepped out of the car as the driver opened the door. A little confused, Jemma followed him, rooting in her satchel for her keys, and Bakshi walked her to her door, waited while she finally found her keys.

“Thank you once again, Jemma,” he said quietly as she reached to unlock the door.

“You’re welcome, sir.”

“Please,” he said, “call me Sunil.”

He was standing… really quite close. And looking at her mouth. Jemma licked her lips unconsciously, and his parted very slightly. He took a very small step closer.

Hastily, she shoved the door open. “Good night, sir,” she babbled. “Thank you for the ride home.”

His hand on her arm stopped her from going inside. “Sunil,” he said quietly. “Please, Jemma.”

She got the impression that he wasn’t a man who _asked_ for anything. He wouldn’t have to. And looking up at him as he smiled, showing utterly unexpected dimples – _dimples_! – she couldn’t help but smile shyly in return. “Sunil.”

His smile widened, the dimples deepening, and he let go of her arm and stepped back. “Good night, Jemma.” He waited until she closed the door before returning to the car.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“There’s a scientist in our downstairs lab,” Bakshi told Whitehall. “I believe her talents are being wasted – I’d like authorisation to bring her up here.”

“So you trust her?” the German asked.

Bakshi smiled slightly, thinking of the way Jemma’s eyes had softened as she looked up at him the previous night, the way she had licked her lips as he stood close to her. She wanted him, he was sure of it – he’d have her in his bed soon, would discover if she was as sweet and tender as she looked.

“I do now,” he replied to his superior’s query. “But if I’m wrong?” He shrugged casually. “We’ll make her comply.” Perhaps Whitehall would let him try the method he’d personally devised, a combination of punishment and reward. He hardened at the thought of beating Jemma’s pretty bottom until it glowed red, of using some of his favourite toys on her…

“Excuse me, sir,” he murmured to Whitehall, who was already examining the paperwork on his desk.

Returning to his own office, Bakshi stopped with his hand on the door handle, before changing his mind and turning around, going down the stairs to the laboratory floor. He paused in the surveillance office, barely even noticing the technician who hastily vacated her chair for him.

For several long minutes, he stood looking at Jemma as she focussed on her work, carefully preparing a set of test tubes for examination. She’d tucked her curling brown hair behind her ears, a pair of safety glasses over her pretty eyes, a white lab coat covering her clothes. He recognised the neck of the blouse she wore beneath, his favourite blouse on her, one that had a cute little tie. The blouse was soft, her pretty breasts always pushed against it in a way that made his mouth go dry. She’d been wearing it the very first time he saw her.

“Well, well, well,” a low voice said behind him, and Bakshi jumped, whirling around.

“Rumlow!” he said, a broad grin spreading across his face.

“Bakshi,” Rumlow returned the smile, offered a big hand to shake. “You look well.”

“You too,” Bakshi scrutinised his friend’s face carefully. There was no trace remaining of the scarring that had marred Rumlow’s good looks the last time they’d seen each other. The HYDRA super-serum wasn’t the equal of the one Erskine had perfected on Steve Rogers, but it was still exceptional science.

“Took a while, but I’m back up to peak,” Rumlow flexed his impressive arm muscles, grinned toothily. “So who are you terrorising this week, Sunil? You look like a cat about to pounce on a mouse.” He looked past his friend’s shoulder, focussing on the monitor, on the camera pointed at a particular scientist. “Someone you suspect – _fucking hell!_ ”

“What?” Bakshi turned to see what had Rumlow lunging forward, leaning in close to the screen.

“What’s Jemma doing here?”

“You _know_ her?” Bakshi realised the surveillance techs were watching them with fascination. “Out. Now.” It wasn’t until the door slammed behind the last tech that he turned back to Rumlow, grabbed the other man’s thick shoulder. “How do you know Dr Simmons?”

“Biblically,” Rumlow’s mouth curved into a grin, and he looked back at Bakshi, his eyes widening suddenly. “You’ve got the hots for her!”

“I d…” and then Bakshi remembered just how long they’d known each other, ever since they both ended up captured by the same unit of the Republican Guard in Iraq over two decades earlier. They hadn’t stayed captured for long. Rumlow had started the fightback, Bakshi had grabbed a gun when one of the guards went down, and at the end of the fight it had been only the two of them left standing, covered in blood, surrounded by the bodies of their enemies. “Yes,” he admitted.

“Always knew you had good taste.” Rumlow grinned. “She’s a little firecracker, is Jemma. Got very particular tastes. Ever since a certain devilishly handsome STRIKE commander took her virginity and inducted her into the pleasures of the flesh…”

“You lucky bastard,” Bakshi said admiringly, and not a little jealously.

Rumlow grinned, still looking at the screen, and then his smile turned thoughtful. “She never took to Rollins. I hinted a couple of times but she shut down any suggestions of a threesome. If she likes you, though…”

Bakshi’s smile was wolfish. “Oh, I think she likes me well enough.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jemma was coming out of the bathroom when she nearly ran into Bakshi. “Oh! Mr Bakshi… sir. I didn’t see you there.”

“I thought we were agreed on what you were going to call me, Jemma?” He was close, one hand braced on the wall as he looked down at her. A black curl strayed errantly across his forehead and she pushed down the impulse to tidy it away.

She glanced both ways down the corridor to check that they were alone before murmuring “Sunil,” quietly.

“That’s better.” He smiled, flashing beautifully white teeth. “So. Dinner, tonight?”

“Yes,” Jemma said, and only afterwards did she think that Coulson and what he would want her to do had never crossed her mind.

“I’ll pick you up,” Bakshi said, “seven o’clock? I have a guest visiting at the moment, probably shouldn’t leave him to his own devices, so could I impose on you to come to dinner at my place?” He smiled again. “I can even cook.”

“Oh, I… we could make it another night, I wouldn’t want to take you away from your guest,” Jemma said immediately.

“You won’t. I believe you’d enjoy meeting him. Seven, then?”

Someone came around the corner, and Bakshi was walking away before Jemma had even had the chance to say another word.

“Well… I suppose so,” she mumbled to herself at last, squared her shoulders and returned to her desk. “Oh, Lord. What on earth am I going to _wear_?”

She ended up spending the rest of the work day worrying about it, doing her work by rote. Finally it was time to leave and she packed up her things and headed back to her apartment, showered and wandered naked into her bedroom, sliding hangers along the closet rail indecisively, unaware that her every move since entering the apartment had been recorded through a set of pinhole cameras placed that very day.

Finally, Jemma selected a blouse and skirt. She’d bought it the previous weekend, not worn it yet. The skirt was pencil slim, falling to just below her knees, the blouse navy with a thin white pinstripe, long sleeves and a round collar.

“I look _prim_ ,” she said despairingly to her reflection, and then “Good! Prim is good! I’m not going to have sex with him.”

She grabbed up her hairbrush, smoothed her hair quickly, put on a subtle lipstick, powdered her nose. “Not going to make a big fuss,” she muttered to herself in the bathroom mirror. “I’m _not_.”

Bakshi was punctual; the bell rang at precisely seven and Jemma gathered up her purse and hurried out.

He hadn’t brought the limo and driver, was instead driving a sleek silver sports car. Opening the passenger door graciously for Jemma, he offered his hand to assist her into the low seat. Considering how narrow her skirt was, she accepted it, and almost gasped in surprise when she felt how warm his hand was.

He said little as they drove, asking a few questions about where she came from in England. Jemma babbled nervously for a little while about growing up outside Sheffield before thinking to ask him about himself.

“Aldershot,” he said shortly, “on an army base.”

“You were in the army?”

“2 Para,” was the monosyllabic reply.

_Oh. Well – he’s even more dangerous than I realised then_ , Jemma thought, looking out of the window into the dark evening. While the Parachute Regiment didn’t have quite the reputation of the SAS, she was well aware that they were the British Army’s first response units, crack troops who parachuted into opposition territory and were trained to win by any means necessary.

“Here we are,” Bakshi said eventually, pulling the car into an underground garage. “Please, stay there,” he said, and Jemma blinked and stayed in her seat, surprised again when he came around to open her door and offer his hand to help her out. He didn’t let go as they walked to the elevator, though, and she couldn’t seem to think of a good reason to pull it away.

It was a pretty quick ride to an upper-floor apartment, and Jemma gasped with pleasure as he led her into a darkened room with a spectacular view from floor-to-ceiling windows. “How stunning,” she murmured, walking towards the view. “What a lovely place to live.”

“Being a senior officer in HYDRA has many more perks than the Army,” Bakshi agreed. Jemma heard a pop and turned to see him opening a bottle of champagne, pouring it into two glasses.

“Oh! Thank you,” she said as he handed her one. She took a small sip, smiling with pleasure at the taste. _How long is it since I last had champagne? I don’t even remember._ The bubbles tickled her nose and she pressed her fingertips to it lightly for a moment.

“Drink up,” Bakshi said quietly. “My guest is waiting to meet you.”

“Oh,” surprised, she blinked. Drained the champagne without really even thinking about it, put the glass back into his waiting hand. “Well, certainly.” _Perhaps it’s another HYDRA agent I could identify for Coulson…_

“This way,” Bakshi said, his hand curling lightly around her elbow as he led her to a door. Jemma blinked with sudden slight concern as he pressed his thumb to an identification plate to unlock the door, but the champagne had fuzzed her head and slowed her reactions, and she’d been propelled gently through the open door before she could even take a step back.

“What… is this place?” Jemma whispered, staring around with shock as the door clicked shut behind them.

“My playroom.”

It was very obvious, really, now that she looked. Not only a wide bed but several pieces of apparently custom-made padded furniture. Various anchor points on the walls, chains hanging from the ceiling. A wide selection of toys laid out around the room on tables and hanging from the walls.

“I don’t want this. Let me go.” Jemma wheeled back towards the door, already suspecting that she wouldn’t be able to get out _. Yes, there was a fingerprint lock on this side too, and oh shit, she’d left her purse with her gun on it in the other room, she put it down when he gave her the champagne_ …

“Why have you brought me here?” She looked up at Bakshi, who was leaning negligently against one of the pieces of furniture, a bench with shackles attached – Jemma didn’t want to think about it.

“Why do you think?” he was slipping loose the knot of his tie, undoing the top button of his shirt to reveal his strong brown throat – _do not think about how attractive he is, Jemma, do not think it_ – “I heard you had very _particular_ tastes.”

She froze up completely. “Wh-what? Who…”

“I’m afraid I told him, Jemma.”

She would know that voice anywhere, that husky grit and gravel snarl that haunted her dreams. Whirling around, she gaped at the dark-haired man who’d just stepped out from behind the curtained four-poster bed.

“You’re dead!”

“Reports of my death were greatly exaggerated, I fear,” Rumlow smiled, walking over to her with that cocky swagger she remembered so well. Reaching her, he put two fingers under her chin, tilted her face up, looked into her shocked eyes. “Did you mourn for me, Jemma? Did you weep for me?”

She’d never been a good liar. And she had to maintain her cover. So she told the truth. “Yes. Yes, I did. I was still with SHIELD then and I told them that I was crying for the loyal friends I lost, those who were wounded. But my tears were for you.” _Even though I know now what you are, I knew even then, that you were HYDRA, that you were part of destroying the agency I loved so much. I still cried for you._

“So sweet,” he said, smiling widely. “Well, dear girl. It’s time to celebrate the fact that I am very much alive. Sunil’s got the hots for you, you see. And I told him that if he was going to share the job of keeping you satisfied along with me, then he’d best learn the right way to do things. We’ve been friends for a long time, I’m quite willing to share the benefit of my insider knowledge.”

She’d forgotten Bakshi’s presence. Turning her head, Jemma saw him standing close, stripped to the waist now – and quite a lot more cut than he appeared in those beautifully tailored suits he wore, strong shoulders and narrow hips, lean muscle rippling under olivine skin as he moved slowly towards them.

“I’m not sure about this,” Jemma whispered. A traitorous heat was starting to steal through her body, though, at the light, _familiar_ touch of Brock’s skin on hers.

Rumlow’s smile was slow and wicked. “Have I ever done anything to you that you didn’t like, Jemma?”

“N-no,” she admitted.

“You’re going to like this as well.”

Suddenly, Bakshi’s hands landed on her hips from behind. With Rumlow close in front of her, there was nowhere for Jemma to go as Rumlow’s fingers dropped and he flicked the top button of her blouse open.

She could have screamed, she supposed. But she had a pretty strong suspicion, considering the room’s obvious purpose, that it was soundproofed. Rumlow already knew too much about her. If she played anything other than the amoral HYDRA recruit, she was probably going to wind up dead.

Plus, how bad could it be?

The buttons of her blouse were all open now, and Rumlow pushed it back off her shoulders. Bakshi caught it and drew it downwards, catching her hands together as the cuffs stuck on her wrists.

“Small breasts, but _very_ sensitive,” Rumlow told Bakshi, even as he unhooked the front clasp of Jemma’s bra and pushed that back over her shoulders too. “Get some clamps.”

Somewhere deep in Jemma’s mind, a tiny voice was shrieking and gibbering with fright. But it was getting quieter by the second, lost as she dropped fast into subspace.

“I’m going to take these off you now, Jemma,” Rumlow said quietly, looking in her eyes, smiling. She was glassy-eyed, utterly compliant as he stripped the rest of her clothes away.

“You’re right, Brock, lovely tits,” Bakshi murmured as he returned. He too glanced in Jemma’s eyes and smiled. “So pretty.” Bending his head, he kissed her, his hands caressing her breasts, pinching her nipples to hard little points before he carefully attached and adjusted the clamps. They were connected by a fine chain, and weighted, the drag as the weights swung making Jemma gasp and moan.

“A little tighter,” Rumlow advised quietly, and Bakshi adjusted the clamps.

Jemma’s knees were shaking, her breath coming in quick little pants. She stood naked before them, a flush rising on her pale skin.

“Mm,” Rumlow looked down, stroked his fingers lightly over her bare mound. “Still waxing, my dear? No, too smooth for that, I think… you got the hair all lasered off, like I suggested last time I saw you. Good girl.”

“I hoped you would like it, Master,” she whispered softly.

“I do. You’re a good girl, aren’t you? You can call Sunil here Sir.”

“Yes, Master.” Obediently she turned towards Bakshi, looked up at him through her lashes. “Is there anything you would like me to do for you, Sir?”

“Bloody hell,” Bakshi breathed admiringly. “You really did a helluva job, Rumlow.”

Rumlow smirked. “Show him how much you like sucking cock, Jemma,” he ordered, and she hit her knees instantly, shuffling forward to Bakshi’s feet.

“May I, Sir?” she requested breathily.

“You may.” He unfastened his pants, eased them down and kicked out of them, slid the shorts underneath off too.

“What a magnificent cock, Sir,” Jemma whispered, looking up at him through those long eyelashes before her tongue slipped out to flick over the head.

She was good, dear God she was good, Rumlow had taught her very well indeed. She had him down in her throat in moments, the soft wet heat of her mouth almost undoing Bakshi.

“Grab her hair,” Rumlow suggested conversationally, “she loves that, loves a good face-fucking. Hard as you like.”

Jemma hummed in agreement, and Bakshi lost his head. No man alive could have resisted such a temptation, he was quite sure of it. He grabbed a double handful of Jemma’s wavy curls and started to fuck her mouth hard and fast. Tears poured down her cheeks as his cock hit the back of her throat, but she didn’t try to resist, made eager sounds around him until he slammed deep and held her there, gagging her with his cock as hot spurts of come jetted down her throat. Not until she choked did he pull back, expecting her to tumble to the floor, out of breath – but she didn’t, swaying for a moment and then leaning back in to lick him clean.

“This is a work of art, Brock,” he just had to say admiringly to his friend.

“Why thank you.” Rumlow grinned. “Taken the edge off? We can have some fun with her now. On this bench, Jemma. Face down, there’s a good girl.”

That pretty little bottom Bakshi had quite a few fantasies about was sticking right up in the air as she bent herself over the bench, finding the footrests and settling herself comfortably. Rumlow took her hands and secured them in restraints that pulled her upper body downwards, leaving her bent forwards slightly, her clamped nipples pressing against the padded bench. “My good girl,” Rumlow patted her head gently and she stared up at him with adoring eyes.

“What can I do to please you, Master?”

“Hmm, let me see,” he moved across to a chest of drawers, opened a drawer and started inspecting its contents. “This one, I think.”

Jemma couldn’t see what he was holding up, but Bakshi could. A set of purple anal beads. “She likes those?” he queried.

“Loves them.” Rumlow tossed it to him, followed by a bottle of lube. “Put them in and I’ll get you another toy.”

Jemma shuddered and sighed as a warm hand smoothed slowly over her bottom. Bakshi’s hand was softer, not as callused and rough as Rumlow’s, though she could feel the strength in it as he kneaded her buttock.

“Delightful,” she heard him murmur, and then there was a _click_ as he popped the lube open. Coolness, followed by tingling, dribbling down her crack, over her anus, making her shudder, and then light pressure as he popped the first bead in.

Jemma moaned, unable to help herself, bit on her lower lip. “I – I’m sorry, Sir.”

“Why?” A second, larger bead, and she bit down on her lip harder for a second before replying.

“I didn’t ask permission to make noise, Sir.”

“You didn’t, did you?” His hand smoothed over her bottom again. “Well. We shall have to see about some penance for that. I tell you what, Jemma. You can make as much noise as you like – but for every sound, you will be punished.”

She couldn’t restrain another moan at the thought, heard him laugh softly. Another bead popped in and she shuddered, sweat breaking out on her hairline.

“Ah, yes,” Bakshi purred softly, pressed and held the last bead still for a few seconds before popping it in. “What a good little girl you are.”

“Please, Sir,” Jemma panted. “Please.”

“Please, what, little girl?”

The lube had trickled over her pussy, over her labia, onto her clit, and the tingling was intensifying. Jemma wrenched at her cuffs, suddenly desperate to be touched there. Her nipples ached and throbbed as the clamps bit tight.

“Please, Sir, I want to get fucked,” she almost sobbed.

“Do you, indeed? Not just yet,” it was Rumlow’s voice, and Jemma looked up pleadingly, seeing him standing there above her.

“Master,” she whimpered. It turned into a squeal as Bakshi popped in another bead. How many _were_ there on that thing?

“You are so lovely,” Rumlow murmured, and she felt something trail up her back. Several somethings. It took several moments for her addled brain to process it. Soft strips of leather.

_Oh dear God it’s a flogger_.

“No,” she tried to say, but it came out as a low moan as another bead popped in and she felt something press against her ass. The base, she thought gratefully, thank God… and the flogger fell for the first time on her bottom.

Somewhere deep inside, part of Jemma was screaming that she should be hating this. That every stroke of the flogger on her butt and thighs should really _not_ feel pleasurable, that she should be yelling and begging them to stop.

Not screaming with pleasure and begging for more. “Harder! Please, Sir, please, Master, my clit, please, _PLEASE!”_

“Your clit?” Rumlow’s voice was low, rich with amusement. “Why, of course. You’re being such a good little girl.” He moved away again, leaving Bakshi to continue flogging her. He was good at it, maybe even better than Rumlow… Jemma pushed down the traitorous thought towards her Master. Master was sharing her with Sir, showing Sir how to treat her well like the good girl she was…

Fingers probed at her clit and she gasped, shuddering. _So close_ …

“Ohhhh,” she moaned, but it turned into a sharp squeal suddenly as a clamp snicked tight. “Master!” she gazed up at him with betrayed, teary eyes.

“Not yet, Jemma,” he caressed her hair gently. “Go choose her something else, Sunil,” he looked behind her.

“Good idea. Hmm.”

She could only writhe frantically, desperately aroused but unable to climax. “May I suck your cock, Master?” she gasped hopefully. Rumlow was always good to her if she pleased him…

He smiled, petting her hair. “Certainly you may.” Adjusting the bench she lay across, he lifted her upper body higher, so that her face was at eye level with his groin. He was wearing only loose-fitting drawstring waist pants, unfastened them now, dropped them to the floor and stepped out of them.

Rumlow was half-hard, wrapped a hand around his cock and jacked it a couple of times now, watching Jemma. She licked her lips, eyes fastened on it.

“You want some of this? Want it down your throat?” Rumlow murmured.

“Please, Master,” she whispered.

“Open those pretty pink lips wide for me, then,” and, when she did, he moved closer and pushed his swollen cock deep into her mouth.

At the exact same moment as Bakshi thrust a thick dildo into her pussy.

“ _Aangh_!” Jemma shrieked around Rumlow’s cock, and he laughed roughly.

“That’s it, Sunil. Switch it on.”

It was a _vibrator_. Jemma screamed again around her mouthful as the buzzing began, and Rumlow shoved deeper, silencing her. She fought to breathe through her nose and not choke.

“Fuck her harder with that,” Rumlow ordered, his hips beginning to jerk.

Tears were running down Jemma’s cheeks, drool leaking out the side of her mouth as Rumlow thrust harder, hitting the back of her throat with every stroke. Gagged by his cock, she could do nothing but scream silently in her mind as Bakshi turned the vibrator up higher and started to thrust it harder into her.

“You want to come, sweetheart?” Rumlow’s rough thumb rubbed under her eye, wiping away tears. She nodded as best she could, trying to tongue at the underside of his cock. “Such a good little girl,” his tone was fond. “Sunil, what do you think? Think she deserves to come yet?”

“You’re too easy on her, Brock,” Bakshi said. “But then, she has got that wonderful mouth around your cock, so I suppose you’ve got a good excuse.”

Rumlow laughed. “Delightful, isn’t it? What do you think then, hmm? When I come, she can?”

“Sounds like a fair trade. And in the meantime…” the flogger’s straps trailed over Jemma’s back again, and she realised that Bakshi was passing it to Rumlow.

_Oh God, no_ … the flogger hissed down, struck precisely on her backside.

It was too much, too much sensation. Jemma convulsed, riding the edge of climax but unable to release with the clamp right on her clit. Again and again Rumlow flogged her as Bakshi turned the vibrator all the way up and Rumlow’s cock slid deep in her mouth. A low deep moan rose up from her belly, vibrating through her aching nipples, thrumming in her throat until Rumlow gasped and let go, a second load of hot semen shooting into her mouth.

“Good girl, gooood girl,” his fingers clenched in her hair for a moment, eyes closing rapturously. Bakshi, seeing Rumlow’s expression, grinned and reached his free hand down underneath the vibrator he was still roughly thrusting into Jemma, releasing the clamp on her clit.

She moaned again at the blood rush in her throbbing clit, the climax pounding through her going on and on and _on_ until she was completely limp in her bonds and yet still coming, her internal muscles squeezing on the vibrator and anal beads. It wasn’t until she began to cry weakly that Rumlow nodded to Bakshi to stop, and the two of them gently removed the toys, unfastened her from the bench and carried her over to the bed.

She thought – hoped – that they might give her some few minutes of respite. But the moment they’d laid her down they were on her again, each removing one nipple clamp and sucking a nipple into his hot mouth. She arched helplessly, sobbing broken little pleas as Bakshi bit down and tugged with his teeth.

Jemma lost track of time as the two men played with her sensitive breasts, strong hands stroking down her limbs occasionally. She was passive and relaxed when Rumlow finally pulled off and said in a low, hoarse voice, “Lay back, Sunil. I’ll put her on you.”

“Damn, yes please,” Bakshi muttered, rolling to his back, taking his cock in hand and jacking it, watching as Rumlow lifted Jemma and turned her easily. “Do I need a condom?”

“She’s clean, and she doesn’t like them. Do you, sweetheart? Likes to feel skin on skin.”

“Yes,” Jemma whispered as Rumlow lowered her slowly onto Bakshi’s straining cock. “Skin. Ohhhh,”

“Beautiful,” Bakshi admired her flushed cheeks, tangled hair, swollen lips and pouting nipples, eyes almost closed as she took him deep. “Absolutely beautiful. You joining us, Brock?”

“Don’t mind if I do.”

Rumlow was hard again already despite having come down Jemma’s throat less than five minutes ago, Bakshi noted a little jealously. HYDRA’s serum had many benefits. Taking Jemma’s breasts in his hands, he kneaded them, pinching at her nipples as his hips rolled slowly, just making slight shifts pressed deep inside her. Hot and wet and sweet, just as he’d imagined, but so much _more_ than he’d imagined. Oh, there were so many games he wanted to play with sweet little Jemma Simmons. If only he’d known before what passion she hid beneath her buttoned-up, prim outfits and shy glances.

Rumlow nudged Bakshi’s knee, and he moved it, spreading his legs further apart for the other man to kneel between them. Tugged hard on Jemma’s nipples, pulling her down to him with little panting cries spilling from her lips, until he let go and she lay on his chest, moaning softly, mouthing at his neck.

“Fuuck,” Bakshi muttered as he felt surprisingly strong internal muscles suddenly clench on him, sucking at him. “Ahhh, _fuuuuuck_!”

“Hang in there, Sunil,” Rumlow said quietly. “Got a grip like an anaconda, hasn’t she?”

“Nnnn,” he had to clench his teeth, saw black spots in his vision for a moment. “Christ al-fuckin’-mighty,” Bakshi muttered finally.

“You’re still doing your pelvic floor exercises, aren’t you, my sweet?” Rumlow stroked down Jemma’s spine. “Such a good girl.”

“Y-yes M-m-m-master,” Jemma stuttered, still shivering and clenching on Bakshi’s cock. Rumlow slapped suddenly at her bottom and she clenched tighter, drawing another muttered oath from Bakshi and a laugh from Rumlow. He’d grabbed a bottle of lube, thrust two slick fingers into her ass now, drawing wails and squeals from Jemma as she writhed desperately – trying to push back onto his fingers, take them deeper.

“You want it, sweetheart?” he leaned over her, whispered in her ear. “Want my cock in your ass while Sunil fucks your pussy?”

“Yes,” she sobbed, “oh yes, oh please, Master, so good, that sounds _so_ good. _Please_.”

“Who could say no to you when you beg so prettily?” Withdrawing his fingers, Rumlow swiftly slicked his cock. Wiped his hand on the sheet. Met Bakshi’s eyes past Jemma’s head and grinned. “Enjoying her?”

“You need to ask?” Even Bakshi looked a little ruffled, a sheen of sweat on his olive skin, his black curls tousled. “She’s _glorious_. I wish you’d stopped by a couple of months ago, I could have been enjoying _this_ all that time.”

Rumlow smirked rather proudly, leaning in against Jemma, his cock pressing against her ass, the tip easing slowly inside, popping past the ring of muscle and making her squeal and thrash, her nails gouging at the mattress.

“All the way in,” Rumlow gritted in her ear, pushing deeper, one powerful hand on her hip holding her immobile. “So fuckin’ tight.”

Bakshi groaned, cords standing out in his neck as Jemma tightened further on him. “Do it, Rumlow, fucking _do_ it, fuck her _hard_ , oh _Christ_.”

Jemma couldn’t believe how _full_ she felt. She’d never been with two men at once, and while Rumlow had regularly taken her with a plug in her ass or a dildo in her pussy while he fucked the other hole, it had never felt this good, this _wicked_ , sandwiched between two hot, strong male bodies as they used her for their pleasure.

She moaned at the thought, bucking up against Rumlow as Bakshi’s hands found their way back to her breasts, and then one of Rumlow’s strong hands was working in between her and Bakshi, sliding downwards over sweat-damp skin, scissoring rapidly over her sensitive, swollen clit as his cock pounded hard in her ass. They went on and _on_ , driving her through another orgasm and pushing her upward, not letting her come down, until she was utterly lost, a wretched, shuddering mess of pure sensation between them.

Finally, Bakshi had to let go, grunting with triumph as he thrust up, flooding hotly into Jemma, and Rumlow pumped only a few more times before he came as well.

“Good girl. Such a good girl,” they were both praising her, their voices low as they laid her down gently on the mattress. Jemma’s hands fluttered as she tried to reach for someone to hang onto, her body quivering with aftershocks, and she sighed with relief as a soft blanket was carefully tucked around her, a warm male body laying down beside her, strong arms folding around her, anchoring her.

It was Bakshi holding her, Jemma distantly recognised after a few minutes, his crisp English voice reminding her of home as he spoke quietly, praising her, telling her how good she’d been. How responsive. He was nuzzling her hair gently.

A few minutes later, Rumlow returned and slipped into bed on the other side of her. Leaning over, he kissed her brow. “I’m very proud of you, Jemma,” he said warmly, quietly, making her smile even though her eyes remained closed. “You were quite magnificent. My best student ever.”

She opened her eyes, met his dark ones shyly. “Thank you, Master.”

He captured her lips in a long, slow kiss before pulling back reluctantly. “But I’m afraid I have to go. I’m on a flight leaving in a couple of hours. I’m going to leave you with Sunil, all right? He knows how to take care of you.”

Jemma had pouted when he said he was leaving, but he kissed her again and she gave him a small smile. “Yes, Master.”

“Be a good girl for him.”

“I will, Master, I promise.”

He smiled, traced her lips with his finger, and glanced behind her. “She’s all yours, my friend. Enjoy.”

“I shall,” Bakshi murmured. “Thank you, Brock.”

“You’re welcome. Make sure you spank that pretty bottom regularly, now. She’s not _always_ a good girl,” Rumlow laughed over his shoulder as he scooped up his clothes and headed for the door.

“Is that right?” Bakshi murmured, his lips brushing Jemma’s neck lightly. She shivered against him and he tightened his arm around her, snuggling her closer. “Are you naughty sometimes?”

“Sometimes,” she murmured. Her brain was slowly starting to function properly again, a feeling of cold dread pouring through her.

_What have I done? If he ever finds out…_

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Aaaand I’m ending it there. Sorry, guys. But that’s over 6,500 words and I’m REALLY NOT turning this into a long story that ends terribly when Jemma kills Bakshi. Nope. Not going there.**
> 
> **(That said, if someone wants to take it on, I’m willing to help…)**
> 
>  
> 
>  


	6. La Belle Dame Sans Merci

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **A gift fic for stereden, who won my 666 Followers Tumblr giveaway. I offered to write a smutty one-night-stand for any two/three Marvel characters of the winner’s choice, with the proviso that they must not have previously met on screen. She chose Remy LeBeau and Maria Hill.**
> 
> **Stereden, incidentally, is French and is responsible for correcting my grammatically crap French whenever I write Remy!**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Timeframe; occurs at some point in between Iron Man 1 and 2. Maria isn’t yet the Deputy Director.**

“You’re doing beautifully,” Coulson’s voice said in Maria’s ear.

“Tell me again why Romanoff isn’t suitable for this job,” she said through gritted teeth, placing one stiletto-heeled foot in front of the other carefully as she ascended the stairs alone.

“She doesn’t fit the mark’s preferred type,” Coulson replied. She was sure she heard an undercurrent of laughter in his voice. God _damn_ this dress, it was so tight her ass probably looked like a sackful of squirming puppies as she made her way upwards.

“She’s everybody’s type,” Maria grumbled under her breath.

“Not this one. He likes them very slim, dark hair and blue eyes.” Coulson tactfully didn’t include the other part of the description they’d been provided, but Maria knew very well what it said. _The untouchable ice maiden type_.

“Fits you to a T,” Coulson carried on. “Now remember…”

“Don’t smile, I know. Cool and aloof.” _Hardly an effort_ , Maria thought to herself. It was a façade she’d cultivated over the years with first the military and then SHIELD, the icily calm and efficient persona that served her well to keep the idiots who would otherwise have looked no further than her pretty face at bay. She couldn’t help having the face she was born with. Or the fact that she was naturally athletic and slim, her slight figure well honed by her strict exercise regime.

“He’s spotted you,” Coulson said in her ear about ten minutes later, after she’d made a slow circuit of the room, nodding regally at a few people who smiled in her direction but never pausing her deliberate progress. “Heading your way.”

The mark was an Uzbekistani arms dealer who apparently got off on being rejected by icily regal American women. Weird as hell, Maria thought privately, but then, there were definitely weirder kinks out there.

“I think not,” she responded coldly, with a dismissive glance, as the Uzbek offered to buy her a drink. The rotund little man flushed red and stuttered for a moment.

“But you don’t have a drink!” he managed to get out finally.

“I don’t want one from _you_ ,” this time she infused her tone with utter scorn, and the mark actually let out a little moan before turning tail and near-sprinting for the men’s room. Where he would lock himself in a stall for a few moments of privacy, and where the special cameras hidden in the stall would capture the detailed retinal scan SHIELD needed.

A few minutes later, Coulson gave Maria the word that the job was done.

“I’ll head back, then,” she said immediately.

“No, don’t do that. It would look odd if you left so soon. Stay a while and enjoy yourself. You’ve got the room booked in case it became necessary; use it. We’ll pick you up tomorrow.” And with that surprising response, the earpiece went dead.

“Coulson?” Maria said quietly, lifting her hand to her mouth and pretending to cough slightly. “Coulson!” But there was no reply.

“Huh,” she mumbled under her breath, glancing around. She thought about going up to the room, but… it was early and she wasn’t at all tired. Making up her mind, she headed towards the bar. She’d have a glass of champagne and a few of those delicious-looking _hors d’oeuvres_ she could see being passed around on platters.

“ _La Belle Dame Sans Merci_ deigns to mingle, then?” an amused male voice murmured in her ear as she stepped up to the bar.

Maria stiffened. Before she could turn around, though, the voice continued “I could almost see your thought process, _ma belle_. Can I be bothered with this riff-raff, or would I be ‘appier alone with a good book?”

Despite herself, she found a small smile coming to her lips. “You’re not far off with that assessment,” she allowed, still not turning around. Trying to catch the eye of the busy barmaid.

“ _Oui?_? I thought so. And then you decided to have a drink, to relax – to let your hair down a little, per’aps?”

He wasn’t French, whoever he was, despite the smattering of French words. Cajun, she rather thought, and taller than her even in the five-inch heels she currently wore, she could feel his breath on the top of her ear as he spoke. Feel the heat radiating off a large body not _quite_ touching hers as he stood close.

“To help me sleep,” Maria responded, realizing to her horror that her voice was a little higher, a little breathier. The man did have a damn sexy voice. The rest of him couldn’t match it, he’d have a face like a toad, surely, she’d better look and then he wouldn’t have any effect on her…

For some stupid reason, she didn’t want to look. Didn’t want to spoil the moment. He was still for a moment, and then chuckled warmly.

“A nightcap, _oui_. Please, allow me.” A hand came into her field of view, gestured imperiously, and the barmaid was in front of them almost instantly, smiling eagerly.

“Yes, sir, what can I offer you?”

 _More than drinks_ , Maria thought sardonically, looking at the way the woman deliberately leaned forward to flash her cleavage.

“Bourbon on the rocks for me, _chère_ , and whatever the lady would like.” A large warm hand settled unexpectedly at the small of Maria’s back. The dress wasn’t cut quite low enough in the back for his hand to touch her skin, she thought – until his thumb moved, grazing her spine, and goosebumps sprang up all over her skin.

“Champagne,” she said mindlessly. “Please.”

The drinks came quickly, and a hundred-dollar note was dropped casually on the bar, a low voice murmuring “Keep the change, _chère_.”

She’d have to look at him in a moment. Picking up the champagne glass, she took a sip, and then said “Thank you,” quietly.

“You’re welcome, _ma belle_ ,” there was a thread of laughter in his voice. “Though I would have thought brandy more suitable for a nightcap?”

“I don’t like brandy.”

He didn’t say anything, but that long-fingered hand picked up the glass of bourbon and she heard him sip.

 _I have to look at him. I have to know_ … turning around, she looked up – into a face almost too handsome to be real. He smiled down at her, almost as though she knew what he was thinking. In the dim light by the bar, his eyes were bright, an unusual orange-amber iris. For an instant she thought she saw a flicker of red in the pupil too, but dismissed that as fanciful imaginings. Not that he wasn’t handsome enough to be Lucifer himself, she thought. Sent to tempt her.

Well, perhaps temptation wasn’t all _that_ bad.

He licked lusciously pink lips before taking another sip of bourbon, ridiculously long lashes fluttering down to rest on his cheeks for a moment. Maria couldn’t stop staring, taking in that amazing face, the high cheekbones and perfectly sculpted jaw with just a faint shadowing of stubble, longish brown hair tied back in a short tail.

“Remy LeBeau, _à votre service_ , _ma belle_ ,” he set the glass down on the bar and tipped his head slightly.

She took another sip of champagne, not at all sure she wanted to tell him her name. Her finely-honed tactical instincts were telling her that he was something more than he appeared. And her feminine instincts were screaming that was totally unimportant and she should just jump his bones.

“Maria,” she said finally.

“ _Enchanté_ ,” of course he picked up her free hand and brought it to his lips, those lusciously full lips, pressing warmly on her knuckles, his upper lip dragging slightly, and suddenly she wanted very, very much to feel that mouth all over her body. Remy’s eyes flickered up to hers and she saw that red glint again for the tiniest fraction of a second. Must be the reflection of a camera flash or something, Maria realised.

“Madam?” a voice said to her right, and she tore her gaze from Remy’s, looked over to see a waiter proffering a tray of delicacies.

She should eat, she realised; champagne on an empty stomach was probably a recipe for disaster. Both her hands were occupied - though Remy’s were not, and he took the platter from the surprised waiter’s hand.

“ _Merci beaucoup_ ,” he told the man cheerfully, putting the platter down on the bar, and the waiter seemed to dither for a moment before shrugging and heading off.

“I think he was probably supposed to circulate with those,” Maria said laughingly.

“Eh, there will be plenty more in the kitchen,” Remy shrugged casually, and her eyes were drawn to his shoulders, and then down across the rest of him, a tall, well-built form dressed in a tuxedo she was absolutely certain had been custom-made for him, it fitted so perfectly.

 _Fuck it,_ Maria decided suddenly. _I’ve got a room and the night off, and the hottest man I’ve ever seen has just hit on me. Why the hell not?_

She took a large gulp of her champagne, almost draining the glass. Remy lifted a morsel from the platter and brought it to her lips, one eyebrow arching temptingly.

Slowly, she parted her lips, took the bite - some sort of cracker with a savoury paste on it - crunched and swallowed, licked her lips. He stared at her mouth as though hypnotised, his hand still hovering close, then traced the tip of his finger lightly along her lower lip.

Deliberately, Maria leaned forward, parting her lips, and took Remy’s finger deep into her mouth, sucking on it lightly and flicking her tongue against the pad of his finger.

His eyes flew wide with surprise before his eyelids drooped sensually and he stepped closer, his other hand sliding around her waist again.

“I have something else for you to suck on, if you’ve a mind to, _ma belle_ ,” he whispered huskily in her ear.

Maria hummed around his finger and his hand on her waist tightened.

“I think, perhaps, we should adjourn to a more private location. Continue the party with just the two of us, _oui_?”

“I have a room,” she admitted, letting his finger out of her mouth with a _pop_.

“ _Moi aussi_ \- whichever you prefer, Maria.”

“Yours,” she decided after a moment’s thought - less awkward in the morning if he wasn’t prepared to leave gracefully. She didn’t care about doing a walk of shame. Frankly she didn’t plan to fall asleep anyway, but then Remy looked like he might just be able to tire her out… a little shiver ran through her at the thought.

“Finish your drink then, _ma belle_ ,” he suggested, picking up his own glass and draining the bourbon remaining in it. She only had a mouthful of champagne remaining, followed suit, wistfully eyeing the platter of nibbles. Surprised when Remy picked it up.

“We shall appropriate these, I think. I haven’t had any dinner. And while I think you will be quite delicious, _ma belle_ , I think it likely that we will both require sustenance before the night is through.” His warm hand landed at the small of her back again as he guided her through the crowd and Maria found herself swaying in towards him unconsciously, seeking his heat. He looked down at her, those delicious lips curling in a sensual, anticipatory grin.

“This is a gloriously tempting dress, _ma belle_ ,” he husked in her ear as they entered the elevator, mercifully empty of others. That large warm hand eased lower, cupped one of her buttocks. “You have the most magnificent ass. That was what I noticed about you first; I want to peel that dress up and take a bite out of this fabulous peach…”

It should have sounded corny and ridiculous, but somehow in Remy’s accent, his voice deep and sensuous in her ear as he stood just behind her, it was incredibly arousing. Looking at the two of them in the elevator’s mirrored walls, Maria felt a little dizzy; she in her white dress looked waiflike next to his height and solid build, looming darkly behind her, his head bent so his lips were just brushing her ear.

The elevator pinged as the doors slid open, and Maria actually swayed on her feet, a little lost in the sensual fog slowly enveloping her.

“This way, _ma belle_ ,” Remy’s warm hand guided her just a few steps along the hallway before he let go and pulled a keycard from his pocket, swiped it to open a door.

A nice room, Maria registered with a quick glance around, bigger and more opulent than hers. Remy set the platter of nibbles down on a side table before turning back to her, both his hands reaching out to catch her waist just before his mouth dipped to take hers in a slow, passionate kiss.

She clutched at him instinctively, her hands sliding up his lapels and around to the back of his neck, her lips parting under the tender onslaught of his kiss. Remy gave a low, hungry growl and his hands slid lower, grasping her ass, lifting her against him and moving forward until her back met the wall.

 _Pinned between a rock and a hard place_ , Maria thought dazedly, or in this case between a solid wall and a very hard, solidly muscled man. She moaned helplessly as Remy ground against her, letting her feel his arousal. Her dress had ridden up, his hands slipping under the hem now to caress and fondle her ass, and he let out a surprised sound into her mouth before pulling back.

“No underwear.”

“Visible panty line is a fashion _faux pas_ , don’t you know,” Maria gasped out as his fingers probed further, sliding into her cleft. “And this dress is so tight…”

“Mmm,” Remy mumbled, turning and lifting her easily, lowering her to the wide bed. “I approve of the dress.” His fingers were working at the skirt, though, pushing it up above her hips. “I approve of everything I see.” His voice dropped to a whisper as he knelt beside the bed, looking along her body towards her face as she propped herself up on her elbows. “It all looks _very delicious_.”

She put a foot on his shoulder, the stiletto heel just pressing into his chest. “Take this off first.”

“ _Comme tu veux_ ,” he sat back, shrugged off the jacket, tugged the knot of his bow tie loose and unbuttoned his shirt. Maria watched appreciatively as Remy stripped to the waist, revealing a solidly muscled chest, a light dusting of dark brown chest hair sprinkled across thick, defined pectorals. He grinned at her and she realised he knew very well how he looked, the kind of effect he had on women. The effect he was having on _her_.

“Got condoms, before we take this any further?” Maria checked.

Remy looked a little offended. “ _Mais oui_ , of course.” He reached for his discarded jacket, pulled a slim wallet from the inside pocket and extracted a condom packet.

“That’s good.” She pushed herself up to a sitting position, reached under her arm for her dress’s hidden zip and slid it down. “Help me out of this?”

“ _Certainement_ ,” Remy agreed eagerly, sitting back on his heels as Maria stood. He helped her ease the tight dress down over her hips, watching as it fell to the floor, leaving her in nothing but the strappy white stilettos.

“ _Tu es comme un rêve devenu réalité_ ,” Remy whispered, his tone worshipful as he gazed up at Maria.

She smiled, ran a hand into his brown hair and tugged the tie holding it at the nape of his neck loose. It tumbled forward, hanging around his jawline, framing that spectacular face. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

Remy leaned forward, placed a light kiss on her bare mons - she’d had all the hair lasered off years ago, so much more efficient - looking up at her through his eyelashes. “You deserve to be worshipped, _ma belle_ ,” he whispered against her skin. “Let me worship you as the goddess you are.”

Her knees went weak, so she hastily sat back down on the bed to cover, leaning back on her elbows again. “You may,” she said in the haughtiest tones she could muster, smiled as he laughed huskily.

He didn’t dive straight in as she expected, though. Instead he lifted one of her feet in his big hands, cradling it gently, pressing light kisses to her toes as he gently unfastened the strap and eased off the shoe, strong fingers massaging the ball of her foot, her aching instep.

“Oh God,” Maria collapsed to lie down, moaning ecstatically as he continued massaging her foot. “Oh God, don’t stop, Remy.”

He chuckled deeply before sucking her big toe into his mouth, caressing with his tongue as his fingers pressed and rubbed, finding sensitive spots she didn’t even know she had. She moaned shamelessly, felt him laugh around her toes, but he didn’t stop rubbing and massaging until she felt completely boneless, utterly relaxed.

“Ffffuuuucccckkkk,” Maria managed to get out. “I think I came.”

“Not yet, _ma belle_ , not yet.” Remy was laughing quietly as he kissed up the inside of her ankle. “So tense,” he crooned. “Carrying the weight of the world, _petite_. Let Remy take care of you, relax you.”

She couldn’t muster the energy to argue even if she’d wanted to. Especially when he picked up the _other_ foot.

Remy smiled as he felt Maria relax completely under his ministrations. He was anything but relaxed, his cock straining against his pants, but he was content to wait, to serve her needs - _all_ her needs. And right now she needed the tension soothed from her body, the beautiful lean form laid out for him like a feast, but wound tight as a spring. He massaged her feet, her calves, her thighs. Turned her over gently and knelt astride her legs, strong hands easing the tightly knotted muscles in her back and shoulders, up to her neck, running his fingers into her silken black hair and stroking gently along her scalp.

He hesitated only briefly before drawing on his power, using the slightest trickle to draw out the incredible potential energy bound up in those tight muscles, converting it to heat energy and letting it dissipate harmlessly into the room’s cool air.

Maria moaned into the bedcovers as Remy stroked her body. He had utterly magical hands; she’d never had a massage where the knots in her muscles uncoiled so easily. Utterly limp, she wondered if she was going to fall asleep - at least, until his hands stroked their way back down to her ass and he bent and nipped lightly at one rounded cheek. Suddenly she was wide awake, her heart rate increasing, as Remy moved back off her legs, pressing her thighs apart gently, his fingers tracing up the inside of her thighs in intricate patterns.

“Are you feeling relaxed, _ma belle_?” Remy whispered against her ass, pressing slow kisses across it. When she could only answer with a wordless groan, she felt him smile against her skin. “Then Remy shall help you to feel even better.” His fingers slid higher, and she couldn’t help but lift her hips a little, trying to get him to the right spot.

“Patience, _ma belle_ ,” he nipped sharply at her ass, making her squeak. “Be patient and you shall have all that you want. Remy will take care of _all_ your needs tonight.” The tip of his thumb teased around her folds, drawing slow circles around her entrance. Maria could feel the wetness there, feel the easy, frictionless way his thumb skated over her skin. It was maddening, arousing - she groaned in frustration, heard his low chuckle again, and then that thick thumb pushed slowly, slowly in deep, the tip hooking down sharply - she came right up off the bed with a yell.

“That is the spot, _ma belle_?” Remy did it again, and this time a finger swiped a swift stroke over her clit at the same moment.

“Huhhh,” she managed to get out, writhing, pushing herself up to her knees and back against his hand.

“Ssshhh,” his other hand stroking her ass gentled her. “ _Ralentissez_ , petite. Remy has you.”

“Please,” she didn’t even care that she was begging, didn’t care about anything other than his hand, gentle inside her but insistent, tendrils of heat streaking through her as he stroked and teased. It was an agonisingly slow climb to the peak, but oh so good on the way up, and when he finally gave her the pressure she needed, chafing his fingers over her clit harder, she fell with a wild scream, her whole body quivering and trembling.

Eyes rolled back in her head, insensible to anything but the pleasure coursing through her, it took Maria a few minutes to regain her senses, and when she did she found herself nestled in Remy’s arms, head resting on his broad chest.

“You needed that, didn’t you, _p’tite_?” he murmured knowingly. “Been awhile since you let yourself go, hasn’t it?”

She nodded a little sheepishly, and he stroked a broad hand slowly down her back. “That’s all right, _p’tite_. Remy’s glad you trusted him that far.”

Maria traced a hand slowly down across his flat stomach, fiddled with his belt buckle. “I could trust you quite a bit further, I think.” Her voice was hoarse; she realised to her surprise that she must have been screaming, though she didn’t really recall.

“ _Oui_?” there was only a trace of amusement in his husky voice. “Remy is more than willing, _p’tite_.”

He certainly was; her hand had worked down a little lower, over his zipper, and she could feel just how very willing he actually was. Licking her lips, Maria turned her head and pressed a kiss to Remy’s chest, the first of a long line of them trailing all the way down to his belt buckle, which she undid carefully before unfastening his pants. Remy just lay back and relaxed, watching her from half-lidded eyes, his hands relaxed by his sides. Though she was pleased to see that his fists did clench as she nuzzled lightly into the open vee created as she eased his fly down.

He was thick, and hot, surging eagerly in her hand as she pushed his pants down. He kicked them off easily and lay nude and completely unabashed before her; as he damn well should be with a body like that, Maria thought admiringly, surveying him. Remy was all long lines and solid muscles, not a bodybuilder’s muscles but those that came from hard work, or a punishing regimen of martial arts.

Remy groaned low in his chest as Maria’s soft lips closed around his tip, her tongue working over the sensitive ridge of flesh just behind the tip. He watched her, watched her eyes drift shut as she mouthed him delicately, long black lashes drifting down onto her cheeks. And then she looked up at him from those beautiful deep blue eyes and hollowed her cheeks, suckling hard.

“ _Mon Dieu!_ ” his hips came up off the bed involuntarily, but she rode the thrust out, humming in her throat with amusement, releasing the suction and bobbing her head instead, setting up a quick rhythm. Remy let out another torrent of expletives in French as one slender hand clamped firmly around the base of his cock.

She had thought he was fully erect, but apparently not, because the tip of his cock was swelling further in her mouth, stretching her lips wider until she had to pull off, take a deep breath. He put a hand on her neck, caressing her aching jaw lightly with his thumb.

“You have a talented mouth, _petite_ , but you knew that, _non_?” Remy asked huskily.

Maria smiled up at him, and he sat up with a smooth, easy ripple of muscle, drawing her up to him and kissing her, slow and sensuous. “Tell me, _petite_ , what you want Remy to do for you.”

Instead of replying, she pushed on his shoulders, shoving him back down on the bed and quickly moving to straddle his chest. He grinned eagerly, hopefully as she settled herself.

“Let’s see if that mouth of yours is good for anything but dirty talk, LeBeau.”

The only way he could possibly respond was with actions rather than words, and he did so promptly, his hands clasping her hips as he buried his mouth in her pussy, agile tongue working up inside her as his teeth scraped very lightly over her clit, making Maria gasp and clutch at his wrists.

Remy most certainly did know what he was doing with his mouth, quickly working her back to up to the edge of climax and then keeping her teetering there with light, delicate flicks of his tongue, not quite enough stimulation to let her come until she groaned and ground down against his face. He made a satisfied sound then, lapping harder and faster, drinking the juices that flowed down onto his tongue with pleasure as Maria spasmed above him, keeping her held against his mouth until she shuddered one last time and her head dropped forward.

“ _C’est bon_ ,” he murmured, lifting her easily off and laying her on her back. “So good, so sweet.” Leaning over her, he devoted attention to her previously neglected breasts, playing with and suckling on her nipples until she was shifting and sighing beneath him, hands clawing lightly at his shoulders.

Reaching for the condom packet he’d set aside, Remy rolled it on swiftly, moved to position himself between Maria’s legs, putting a hand to her cheek gently to make her look at him.

“This, it is all right for you, _ma belle_?”

“Yes,” she lifted her legs, setting her ankles on his shoulders, much to his surprise, “deep, make it deep, _oh God yes_.” The last three words were delivered in a low throaty growl as Remy obeyed her order, driving to the hilt with one long, slow thrust.

“You like this, _ma belle_? Remy makes it good for you, _oui_?” He held still, at full depth, tiny twitches of his hips just shifting his cock inside her, rubbing firmly against her G-spot, his hand moving forward over her hip until he could ease his thumb down, skate it in quick slippery circles over her clit.

“Yes,” she panted back, rotating her hips to increase that blissful friction inside her, “good, that’s really good, Remy, aaahhh, harder, faster, that’s _it…_ ” He’d started to move, finally, was starting a fast, pounding rhythm of deep strokes which felt utterly wonderful, one strong hand under her ass pulling her back onto his cock while the other played with her clit.

It was the best sex Maria had ever had, bar none. Remy knew exactly what he was doing, exactly how to move, how to make her ride the edge of the wave of pleasure until she was hoarse from screaming.  

And then he flipped her over and did it all over again.

At last, she lay limp and wrung-out on the bed, sprawled as though she’d been dropped from a great height. She felt Remy place a kiss on the small of her back, heard his low chuckle.

“You sleep well tonight, eh, _petite_?”

“Hmmm,” she managed.

“Remy has made you truly relaxed,” she could hear contentment in his tone. “Sleep, little one. I will be gone before you wake,” he kissed slowly up her spine, every brush of his lips a heated brand on her skin, “but you will be quite safe here. No one will disturb you.”

His voice was a low, comforting rumble, almost like the soothing purr of a cat. Maria’s eyes closed completely and she drifted off to sleep to the sound of Remy’s voice whispering promises of rest and safety.

She blinked her eyes open as sunlight fell across them; not the golden light of early morning but a deeper orange glow. There was a clock on the bedside table; she stared disbelievingly at the glowing green numbers.

_4.38_

“It can’t be,” she pushed herself upright and reached for the little clutch purse she’d been carrying the evening before, conveniently placed on the bedside table as well. Digging out her phone, she groaned as she saw the screen.

_You have 13 messages and 7 missed calls._

“Oh, _shit_.”

“Where the hell are you?” was the first thing Coulson said when she rang him back, while wriggling into her dress.

“In the hotel.”

“Not in your own room, you’re not!”

“I overslept, Coulson, can we please just drop it? I’ll be at my room in five minutes. Come pick me up. Actually, make it ten…” it would be nice to change out of her dress, even if she didn’t have time for a shower.

“I’m in your room _now_ , Agent Hill. Why did you turn your phone’s locator off?”

 _I didn’t_ , she almost said, closed her eyes. _Remy_. Why would he do that? She couldn’t help but recall his words last night, that no-one would disturb her sleep. That he’d make sure of it.

That said, it was the best night’s sleep she’d had in what felt like forever. And her whole body felt amazing, loose and relaxed, all the stress and tension that had built up in her muscles just gone as though it had never existed. The only hint that she’d had more than the world’s best massage was the residual faint soreness between her legs.

Grabbing her shoes off the floor, Maria glanced quickly around the room. There was no sign that Remy had even been there, but then he had told her he’d be gone by the time she woke. She left with a regretful glance over her shoulder. While she wasn’t in the market for a long-term relationship, it might have been nice if he’d left her his number…

It wasn’t until a few days later, when she was scrolling through the contacts on her phone, that she discovered he had. _LeBeau, Remy_ , the entry read, and there was a mobile phone number. And a note, in the Other section of the contact entry. _Call me when you need relaxing_.

Maria couldn’t help but smile, her thumb hovering for a moment over the Call button before she moved it away and kept scrolling. _That sort of relaxation could be addictive_. She’d wait until she really needed it.

It was about six months later when Remy received the first text from Maria. He was in New Orleans at the time, keeping up with old contacts. Smiled as he read the message on the screen.

_It’s been a tense few weeks. What are you doing tomorrow night?_

_Pleasuring you, ma belle_ , he texted back, gathering his coat off the back of his chair and heading for the door. Out on the street he waved down a taxi quickly.

“The airport, please,” he told the cabbie, and settled back in his seat, a smile of anticipation curving his lips.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Headcanon that Maria booty-calls Remy whenever the stress gets too much for her. Over the next few years, the calls become more and more frequent - because he is, after all, addictive - until one night she realises that he hasn’t gone home, wherever that is for him, in a month!**
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	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A ficlet written for Day 2 of the FuckyeahDarcyLewis blog's FYDL POC week, focussing on Darcy ships with people of colour.  
> Day 2's prompt: Elevator Meeting

The Triskelion was massive. Darcy’s stomach lurched as the elevator zoomed upwards - and then stopped abruptly. She put a hand on the side rail to steady herself as the doors opened and a tall, handsome black man in black jeans and a denim jacket stepped in. He smiled and nodded to her, glanced at the lit button for the top floor and stepped back against the wall, putting his hands behind his back and bracing his legs.

Darcy took a moment to appreciate the view, because  _ hot damn _ those jeans were tight, before asking;

“So is that SHIELD’s idea of office wear? Because if it is I might just be interested in this job after all.”

Tall, Dark and Gorgeous looked briefly surprised before letting out a laugh so smooth it flowed over Darcy like warm honey and made her shiver with unexpected delight. “No, I just got back from an undercover op.”

“I bet you’re terrible at undercover. You’re too good-looking, you must attract lots of attention,” Darcy flirted a little hopefully. “I’m Darcy, by the way.”

“Trip,” he ducked his head in an aw-shucks kind of way she found completely adorable, and smiled, the most infectious, gorgeous smile. “You here for a job interview?”

“I’m not sure it’s an interview, as such,” Darcy said as the elevator arrived at the top floor and the doors slid open. “I think I’ve been conscripted and now I’m just gonna get told what I have to do.”

Trip gave that honey-smooth laugh again. “Well. Maybe after you’ve got your instructions, I could show you round a little? Maybe grab a coffee?”

“I’d love that,” she said enthusiastically. A friend - and maybe a bit more - in this intimidating place would be absolutely wonderful.

“I gotta make my report. If I’m done before you, I’ll wait here?” He gave her a hopeful look, gesturing to a couple of comfortable chairs near a window.

“And I’ll wait here for you if I’m done before you,” Darcy agreed. “Don’t go without me, now?” she pleaded.

“Wild horses couldn’t drag me away,” Trip said, and gave her an unexpectedly smoldering look.

“Oh, no. You do realise that song’s gonna be in my head all through my interview now???”


	8. Daisy/May ficlet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm a co-mod on the [We Love Daisy Johnson](https://welovedaisyjohnson.tumblr.com/) Tumblr blog, and as a follower milestone celebration agreed to write a couple of prize ficlets.
> 
> Daisy & May "I'm not sick enough to not train" for mocking-point

“Daisy, I am telling you, I’m perfectly fine.” May tried to push the younger woman aside, to step into the gym. Daisy pushed back, and it was telling just how ill May felt that she staggered and almost lost her footing. Daisy’s arms promptly encircled her waist, holding her close.

“Love, you have the flu,” Daisy said quietly, sympathetically. “Come on. Take a day. Let me get you back to bed.”

“It’s just a little cold,” May insisted, “I’m not sick enough to not train, I assure you.”

Daisy considered her lover for a moment. Melinda’s skin was flushed, her eyes bright with fever.

“Fine,” Daisy said at last. “If I take you for three falls inside five minutes, I win, and you go back to bed for as long as I damn well say you do.”

May scoffed. “You’re dreaming. And no powers, that’s cheating.”

“No powers, I promise.”

“What do I get if _I_ win?”

“You get to train, if you want to. But frankly in the state you’re in, _Fitz_ could take you for three falls in five minutes.”

“Now you’re just being insulting!” May pulled away from Daisy’s hold, walked to the centre of the mats… in a very uneven line, which she was quite clearly unaware of. Mack, lifting weights on the far side of the gym, shook his head.

“Go easy on her, partner,” he called to Daisy.

“Will do. Would you carry her back to our room afterwards for me?” Daisy asked.

“Sure thing.” Mack set his weights back down, reached for his watch. “I’ll time you. Go.”

A little less than two minutes later, May tapped out for the third time with a groan. “Okay. You win.”

“Told you, Fitz could have beaten you in this state,” Daisy let go, climbed off. “No, don’t you dare get up. Mack’s going to carry you back to our room, and then I’m gonna make you some chicken soup and you are darn well going to eat it, and you’ll stay in that bed if I have to pin you down?”

May groaned again as Mack picked her up off the floor. “It’d be more comfortable being pinned on the bed than on the floor, I s’pose,” she said. “Especially if _you_ were pinning me down,” she grinned at Daisy.

“You’re not well enough for that, either,” Daisy said, at the same time as Mack groaned and said;

“Oh God, please save this for when I can’t hear you, guys. I don’t want to know what you do in the privacy of your own bedroom.”

May giggled before starting to cough. Daisy put a hand on her forehead. “I think you’re delirious, love.”

“Deliriously in love with you,” May agreed.

“Okay, who is this and what has she done with Melinda May?” Mack asked, horrified.

“... don’t ever joke about that.”

“Point!” He laid May down carefully on their bed and backed away. “Now I’m off to sterilize myself with bleach, since I don’t want to catch the plague. Have fun, girls! Only, not too much.”

“You shouldn’t,” May said, as Daisy crawled onto the bed with her, grabbing a blanket to tuck over them both. “You’ll get sick too.”

“I can’t catch it. Inhuman, remember? I’ve never had a cold or the flu in my life. Seems we get blessings along with the curses.” Daisy smiled wryly, hugging May close. “Now hush and go to sleep.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another prize ficlet for the [We Love Daisy Johnson](https://welovedaisyjohnson.tumblr.com/) Tumblr blog giveaway!
> 
> Daisy/Thor ficlet for uruvielnumenesse

 

Uh, Coulson,” Fitz hurried into Coulson’s office without knocking, some sort of device clutched in his hand. “We’ve picked up a Bifrost arrival signal.”

“Thor coming back to the Avengers?” Coulson smiled with a certain glee. “Maybe he can knock some sense into Stark’s dense head. I can’t imagine the Accords going over very well with Asgard.”

“Um, no, sir. This is an arrival… _here_.”

Booted feet sounded in the corridor outside, and Coulson stood up, waving Fitz to one side. “Lady Sif again, perhaps…” his eyes widened as Sif indeed strode into the office, followed by a red-cloaked, blond giant. “Uh. Thor.”

“Son of Coul.” Thor nodded at him without the slightest expression of surprise, which made Coulson wonder just how long Thor had known he wasn’t dead. And just who had told him. Considering the serious expressions both Asgardians were wearing, he knew this wasn’t the time to ask that particular question.

“What can we do for you?” he asked instead.

“We left the Inhuman with you because _you_ assured me that she would not be a threat, Son of Coul,” Sif said, and her expression was disappointed. “Yet, through her actions there are new Inhumans popping up all over Midgard, and Daisy herself is no longer with SHIELD, but acting as a lone vigilante.”

There wasn’t a lot Phil could say to that. He sighed, dropping his eyes for a moment. “Yes, but - she is not a threat to anyone but - but bad people.”

That gained him a raised eyebrow from Sif and a cynical snort from Thor. “This is why you have been chasing her around the country trying to catch up with her, is it, Son of Coul?” Thor boomed.

Fitz winced. “She - was upset when she left,” he put in, quietly. “Lincoln, her - friend, he died stopping Hive.”

“That was a truly noble act,” Sif said with a nod, “and we know well how the loss of a loved one can cause someone to become… distraught.”

Thor firmed his lips, fingering Mjölnir’s handle, but he didn’t say anything, as Sif looked at him sidelong.

“Distraught, yes. Daisy - she felt that SHIELD wasn’t the best place for Inhumans. She was doing amazing work here, building a team we called the Secret Warriors. Elena and Joey are the only two left now, you should meet them, they’re both wonderful people…”

Thor held up a hand to stop Coulson. Phil bit his lip, but fell silent.

“We do not doubt the integrity of the Inhumans working with SHIELD. Heimdall the Guardian has been keeping watch. Asgard has intervened more than once, in situations of which you know nothing.”

Phil opened his mouth, and then shut it again. “So you’re just here about Daisy,” he said finally.

“Her activities must be halted,” Sif said, not unkindly. “The All-Father has commanded it.”

“It’s not like we haven’t tried!” Fitz said defensively.

“Which is why _we_ are here,” Thor looked at him with a nod. “SHIELD has done its utmost, but Daisy’s abilities are beyond what you are able to deal with, and the Avengers - well, the Avengers were never yours to call, but they are no longer available anyway.” A muscle ticced in his jaw. Fitz and Coulson looked at each other in silence.

“So you’re here because…?” Coulson said finally.

“Merely to advise you not to attempt to intervene,” Sif replied. “We will apprehend Daisy and remove her to Asgard. Removing her from Midgard will hopefully remove the cause of her despair, her rage; we can offer her a new purpose on Asgard, if she chooses not to return.”

That made Phil gulp. “Not to return?”

Sif’s expression softened. “You love her as a daughter, Son of Coul, we understand this. Is there any message that you would have us give to Daisy for you?”

“Just…” Phil looked at Fitz, then back at Sif. “Tell her that I love her. That we all love her, and that there will always be a place here for her.”

Fitz nodded, a lump in his throat, unable to speak. The Asgardians looked at them both in silence for a few moments before nodding and quietly taking their leave.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thor and Sif fully intended to take Daisy by surprise. They returned briefly to Asgard and waited with Heimdall until the Guardian told them that she was sleeping.

“Let me handle this,” Sif told Thor as they quietly approached the motel on foot. “She knows me.”

“As you will.” Thor left Mjölnir on his belt. He’d long since learned that when Sif had a plan, it was usually a workable one.

Seeing Sif go flying past him less than three seconds after she opened the door was rather unexpected, though. Thor’s eyebrows rose. Plucking Mjölnir from his belt, he strode over to check on Sif.

“You are unhurt?” he checked. Sif scowled up at him, pulling herself painfully up off the crushed car she’d landed on.

“I am fine!”

“Be at ease,” Thor saw her now, a tiny figure, standing in the doorway, hands held out before her, dark hair tumbling around her face. Wearing only yoga pants and a tank top. Such a little thing, to cause so much trouble. A small smile quirked his mouth. “I will handle her.”

“Ha,” Daisy said scornfully, “You couldn’t handle me if I came with a user manual!”

Thor stared at her incredulously for a moment before beginning to laugh heartily. Letting Mjölnir drop to the ground with a resounding clang - it sank a couple of inches into the parking lot’s asphalt - he spread his hands unthreateningly. “Very well, my lady. We shall not seek to ‘handle’ you. We are here only to extend an invitation.”

She eyed him warily. “An invitation. Last time Sif came looking for me, she wanted to put me down.”

“Last time she found you, you were not even close to being in control of your powers, and still she trusted that you would not harm any innocent, of your own free will. Now that you do have control, is that still the case, my lady, that the innocent remain safe from you?”

“Yes,” Daisy said, after staring at him thoughtfully for a moment.

“Still, it is decreed that you may not continue on your current path.” Thor’s tone was firm, but not unkind. “One way or another, this ends tonight.”

Daisy’s jaw clenched. “I’m not done.”

“Yes,” he said gently. “You are.”

She stared at him for a long moment before dropping her hands. Tears began to well in her dark eyes, and Thor approached her slowly, marvelling again at how small she was for one so powerful.

“Come, my lady,” he said gently. “Asgard awaits, and a new path, should you choose it.”

She was so _tired_ , so tired of running, of fighting, of having to hold herself apart from everyone in case she hurt them. On Asgard, she would be among equals, among those she probably couldn’t seriously hurt even if she wanted to. Thor’s huge hands closed gently on her shoulders, and Daisy couldn’t help herself; desperate to feel human contact again after so long, she stepped forward, put her arms around him and leaned her forehead on his armoured chest.

Startled, Thor still recognised her need. His massive arms folded gently around her, wrapping her in a warm, close embrace. “It will be well, my lady,” he rumbled softly. “All will be well.”

She looked up at him with tear-bright eyes, and he was struck suddenly by how very beautiful she was. His heart lurched in his chest.

“Be not distressed,” Thor told her. “We are not here to harm you, but to offer our hands in friendship, as allies. The Son of Coul asked me to give you a message; that he loves you still, and that there remains a place for you with SHIELD, if you wish to return to them.”

Daisy shook her head. “I can’t. Everyone there - they’ve all risked their lives, and suffered for my sake, again and again. Too many people have died because of me. I won’t put them at risk any more.”

“As you will. Would you come with us to Asgard, then? You would be our honoured guest there. My _personal_ guest,” something impelled Thor to add.

Daisy gave him a small smile. “I - I am honoured to accept that invitation, Prince Thor.”

“Just Thor. Please.” Dropping his arms from around her with some reluctance, Thor reached out a hand, calling Mjölnir to him. “We shall be friends, you and I.”

“I’d like that.” Daisy’s smile grew a little wider, as her eyes fell on his arms, muscles bunching thickly as he hung the hammer from his belt. She couldn’t quite resist reaching out, poking lightly at his bicep. It felt exactly like human flesh, albeit firmer and more muscled than any other she’d ever touched.

Thor startled, looking back down at her questioningly. “Just checking. For a friend of mine,” she gave him a mischievous little grin, remembering May’s long-ago comment on Thor’s arms.

“Any time you wish,” a little bemused, still Thor shrugged and smiled down at her.

“If you two have _quite_ finished flirting?” Sif interrupted dryly. She was sitting not too far away, on the hood of the dented car.

Thor actually coloured slightly over his cheekbones, which caused Daisy to blush too. “I’ll just… grab my stuff,” she gestured at the open door behind her.

“What could you possibly need?” Sif asked blankly. “Clothes will be provided for you, and your primitive Midgardian technology will be of no use on Asgard.”

That actually froze Daisy in her tracks. “Still, I don’t necessarily want anyone else to get their hands on my stuff,” she said. “I’ll be just a moment.”

“Do not look at me like that,” Thor said when Sif came to stand beside him as they waited.

“What, you think I do not see that you already look at her with your heart in your eyes, you great fool?” Sif nudged him affectionately in the ribs. “Perhaps you should be glad that your lady mother is no longer with us. She would have the two of you handfasted before you even had time to blink.”

The door opened then, and Daisy came out, dressed in jeans and jacket, sturdy boots on her feet, a knapsack over her shoulder. “So how do we do this?” she asked a little uncertainly.

Thor held out a hand to her. Sif snorted, not at all under her breath, and he shot her a sideways glare, but Daisy ignored Sif and put her hand into his, allowing him to lead her to the centre of the parking lot, away from other vehicles. Sif came with them, moving to stand on Daisy’s other side, not quite touching her.

“So is there some sort of magic word like _open sesame_ or _ohhh_ ,” Daisy gasped with astonishment as the Bifrost sparkled to life all around them, all the colours she could name and some she couldn’t, roaring with a silent cold fire.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“They’re gone, sir,” Fitz reported quietly. Coulson turned to look at him, nodded silently.

“Do you think she’ll be all right, Fitz?” he felt suddenly compelled to ask.

“I think she has the happy knack of making friends everywhere she goes,” Fitz said after a moment. “Everyone loves Daisy. You wait, sir. Next time we see her, she’ll probably be queen of Asgard.”

The remark had the desired effect of making Coulson smile, and Fitz walked away feeling a little better himself.

Of course, six months later when Sif turned up to invite them all to a royal wedding, Coulson asked Fitz if he was quite sure he hadn’t developed precognition. But that’s another story.

 


End file.
